


A Clash of Lightnings

by lucyrne (theungenue)



Category: Soul Eater, Toradora!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Humor, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Mutually Unrequited, Nerdiness, Other, References to Drugs, Slow Burn, Toradora!AU, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:56:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2629295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theungenue/pseuds/lucyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ToraDora!-Inspired AU. College Setting. Eventual SoMa. </p><p>Some say love strikes like a bolt of lighting, and none know it quite like Maka Albarn and Soul Evans. In their second year of college, the two misunderstood misfits find themselves instantly falling in love with people they don't have a chance with. Unwilling to resign themselves to a life of unrequited pining, they become partners in order to help each other achieve their romantic ambitions. As the school year marches on, relationships unravel, and friendships deepen, the two begin feel sparks of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Below is the combined prologue for the story where I explore Soul and Maka's respective crushes. Both of these were published on my Tumblr separately, but they've been edited and renamed. The first scene of the first chapter is also on Tumblr, and I will update here when I finish writing the rest of it. Once Resbang is over, stay tuned for semi-regularly updates!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul and Maka fall unexpectedly fast for people undeniably out of their leagues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to Kenya Danino (Whos-That-Foxi-Lady) for making this awesome cover art for me!

** **

**The Roar of the Tiger.**

Maka Albarn did not want to fall in love.

Personally, she felt entirely justified for feeling this way. Her entire adolescence was a testament to the capricious nature of love, and her very existence was a permanent reminder of a love that used to be. If the daughter of two professors with PhDs in family dysfunction was sure of anything, it was that love was a fleeting prelude to betrayal, grief, and loneliness.

So it was a complete, horrifying surprise when she fell in love on the first day of Intro to Literary Theory.

For the record, Maka was prickly and she knew it. Her friendships had a turnover rate of two to three years, depending on how long she lived in one place. After the divorce, her dad stayed in Death City as an adjunct at the local university while Maka and her mother hopped from city to city across the country. As her mom tirelessly sought out new research opportunities and faculty positions, Maka endured the repetitive cycle of starting anew, making friends, and leaving without a trace. After a while, it was just easier to keep to herself.

College was supposed to be different. For the first time, Maka would be committed to staying in one place for four entire years. Death City University was not her first choice, but because her father was on track to receive tenure, her tuition was sharply reduced. It was more practical to go where tuition was cheap, even if it wasn’t the Ivy she always wanted. Regardless of its academic reputation, Maka was going to have the ability to meet and befriend new people, make actual friends, and have an actual life.

Maka also didn’t actually  _hate_  men. She just found female friendships easier to start and grow—like her freshman year roommate. They had met at orientation the spring before their first semester, dutifully following their orientation coordinator around campus while the pervy high school boys in their group attempted to prove they were men. As Maka followed their tour guide and her headache grew worse, she couldn’t fathom that those blundering oafs were to be her new classmates in the fall.

Long story short, Maka’s anger had gotten the better of her and she kicked a guy in the shins. In hindsight, this was probably the moment the nickname “Palmtop Tiger” started to take root in the freshman class. As the jerk staggered away and started spreading the first rumors about Maka’s violent temper, a perky blonde with a sandy bob and large blue eyes watched Maka with curiosity.

“Why’d you kick that guy?” the blonde had asked. Her bright eyes appeared to darken. “Was he bothering you?”

“He told me biracial was his favorite flavor,” Maka replied without humor.

The blonde nodded cheerfully, but the shadowy glint in her eyes remained. “Good. Cock suckers like that deserve getting the shit kicked out of them.”

Maka and Patty Thompson were fast friends.

Teenage boys though? That was a more difficult challenge, one Maka didn’t really feel like wasting her energy on considering how much teenage boys  _sucked_. But she was still a young eligible woman about to embark on the next chapter of her life’s journey. If she was going to spend the next four years making friends and possibly dating, she should go into college with an idea of what she actually _liked_ about men, right?

At first, it was easier to catalog all the men she hated than the ones she felt attracted to. For example, boys who wore sarcastic t-shirts. Dudebros who took up a lot of room on the bus. Men who felt personally victimized by feminism. Guys who didn’t value hard work. Spikey-haired trust fund babies. Redheads.

No, if she were going to fall in love with any guy, he would be charitable. Passionate. He’d use his enormous wealth (this was a dream guy, a complete fantasy, so why can’t he be rich too?) for the greater good instead of further oiling the cogs of capitalism with the blood and sweat of the people. Probably brunet. An intellectual, too. Devastatingly attractive.

This guy did not exist, would never exist, but that was the point. Creating and clinging to this fantasy was Maka’s best defense against love and all of its entanglements. If she constructed her own soulmate as an impossibly perfect dream man, how could she ever get her heart broken?

When it came to love, Maka was immune. Well, that was the idea.

She wasn’t in a good mood when she arrived in class that fateful day, but it got worse when her crusty professor starting passing out the beginning-of-the-semester paperwork. The syllabus was horrendous. Scanning the list of authors on the page, Maka figured that Intro to Literary Theory should have been really named Intro to White Male Circle-Jerks. What else did she expect from a tenured professor? She had spent years watching her mom struggle to get a foothold in academia while less brilliant, tenured professors ranted about their outdated views. Nothing loosened the racist, sexist tongue quite like permanent job security.

Her mouth pressed into a grim line, Maka skimmed the syllabus in the hope of finding at least one woman until she heard a chair scrape against the floor and another student clear his throat.

“Professor, I have a qualm.”

Still frowning, Maka dragged her eyes away from the syllabus and to observe what this guy had to stay.

When she first laid eyes on Dean Theodore ”Kid” Kidman, son of University President Kidman, Maka made a small, strangled noise as she tried to remember how to breathe.

This was terrible. The boy she had made up with her ridiculous, unattainable standards was standing a few feet away from her, in the flesh. She could not help but gape at his porcelain skin, finely chiseled face, and unusual gold eyes. It was like looking at the sun. Her eyes kept darting away to safer, less blinding subjects, only to jump back to his inky hair and slowly trail down his back and stare at his—

Maka pinched herself. This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t. She was almost offended that this was happening. How dare this happen? How dare—

“As a student at this university, I’m saddened by the lack of diversity in this syllabus,” Kid said. A sudden spark flickered in his yellow eyes. “But as a feminist,” he said with building outrage, “I am simply  _appalled!”_

Was this guy for real?

Maka didn’t know if she felt pissed that some guy had stolen her line or overjoyed she wasn’t the only person in class drinking the patriarchal kool-aid. She picked her jaw off the floor and watched as Kid deconstructed the syllabus, asking how were they supposed to  _learn,_ in their first semester of college no less, if the professor just spoon-fed them the same perspective over and over? Maka thanked whatever deities ruled the heavens that she wasn’t alone—someone actually agreed with her! And better yet, he was attractive!

It wasn’t just his face that Maka liked. She was impressed by his poise, his articulation, his obvious knowledge of literary criticism. Even so, the transition from happy detachment to head-over-heels love was incredibly jarring. In one instant, she was untouchable, but in the next, she was irrevocably smitten. Kid had officially captured Maka’s undivided interest without even speaking to her.

In her room that night, Maka couldn’t help but express her newfound frustration to her roommate. “Have you ever seen someone so perfect that it literally ruined your day?” she asked.

Patty was flopped on her XL twin bed with her blond head hanging off the edge, painting her nails upside down. “Yep, like all the time,” she chirped.

Maka stared at her first reading for her literary theory class, but the words just swam on the page. “I just want to slap his gorgeous mouth right off his gorgeous face.”

Her roommate lowered her nail polish and cocked her head to the side. “Who is this?”

Maka’s face burned. It was humiliating enough that some guy she had never spoken to was making her heart spasm. No need to make things worse by admitting her crush to someone she was still learning to trust. “No one in particular. Just some guy in class. You see anyone cute in your classes yet?”

“Nooooooope,” Patty said, popping the ‘p.’ “Not as cute as you!”

“Aw, thanks Patty.” Maka swiveled back to her desk and tried to refocus on her assignment. She wasn’t going to let some  _boy_  impact her grades.

Despite her better judgement, that boy and his stupid, hot face became a constant distraction. In addition to looking handsome on a daily basis, Kid quickly proved to be the class heckler. Every time he accused their stodgy professor of forcing his prehistoric opinions upon the class or confronted a classmate about their ignorant views, Maka swooned. Hard.

“Maybe Portia isn’t as flat or unrealistic a character as you say,” Kid said one day after a classmate complained about  _The Merchant of Venice_. “Maybe you find her so unrealistic because she doesn’t behave the way you expect her to. I think it is your expectations of female characters that are truly unrealistic!”

Maka’s knees blasted apart so fast she almost got charlie horse.  _What on earth is wrong with me?_ she asked herself for the umpteenth time, recrossing her left leg over her right. _Get your head out of the gutter Albarn!_ Thankfully, no one in class ever seemed to notice when she started melting in her seat, least of all  _him_. She suspected that if they met outside the classroom, Kid would not even recognize her. Despite her vivacious, extroverted personality, Maka could hardly manage to squeak out a word in class. At least class participation wasn’t a part of her grade.

Her other classes were a different story. Some days it was like everyone was just trying to get on her nerves. Growing up in a professor’s household left her unprepared for the putrid ignorance among rich college kids, and she had easily thrown her entire bookshelf at offending students by Thanksgiving break.

And don’t get her started on all the times her papa tried to talk to her in public.

In the midst of the everyday frustrations of school and family, Maka could always return to her crush on Kid. He didn’t have to interact with her to make her feel like flying. Sometimes she would stay up all night fantasizing, her chest bubbling with excitement at the thought of talking to him and her hands burning for his touch. It was very indulgent to think about him so much, but it was an addictive indulgence. Though completely unasked for, these fluffy feelings proved that Maka was capable of feeling deep emotion for another person. Real love was possible. She just had to gain the courage to chase after it.

By December, Maka noticed faint whispers everywhere she went.  _Palmtop Tiger._ She heard the term here and there since the beginning of the semester while chewing out another student in class or  clobbering an asshole with a book, but she had never made the connection that the phrase had something to do with her. As helpful and open as her roommate was, Patty was strangely tight-lipped on the subject. It was only when she heard another freshman whisper it while getting late night coffee that Maka took the initiative.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Maka snapped. The freshman obviously did not expect to be noticed, and he looked like a deer caught in front of an eighteen wheeler.

“Uh, it’s a nickname,” the guy stuttered. “Cause you’re small and cute, like you can fit on a guy’s palm, but you’re also all ‘rawr’ all the time, like a tiger.” A flash of uncertainty crossed the guy’s face. “You are Maka Albarn, right? The pervy professor’s angry daughter?”

Maka really did roar as she grabbed his shirt collar and throttled him from side to side. _“What did you just call me?”_   

Her outburst only served to confirm the rumors. Patty was very apologetic when Maka confronted her, if not still a little evasive. “I’ve always thought it’s the most amazing, coolest thing that you don’t take anyone’s shit,” her roommate said with knitted eyebrows. “I didn’t want to make you feel bad about it.”

Her intentions may have been sound, but the nickname was a blow to Maka’s self-esteem no matter how Patty sliced it. All those nights Maka had laid wide awake imagining an alternate universe where her crush not only knew she existed, but would take her on romantic walks and brush her hair out of her eyes, the rest of campus was spreading this awful nickname.  _Palmtop Tiger._ It was diminutive and dehumanizing at the same time. That fact by itself was enough to make Maka cry in the shower.

What really made her throat thicken was the term’s rampant use on campus. If random douchebags she had never seen before could recognize her as the Palmtop Tiger, Kid probably could too. To him and the rest of the student body, she was just a wild animal with a libertine for a father. A side show. A freak. That made her feel lonelier than she ever did moving across the country.  

Any attempt she made at getting closer to Kid or making new friends was dead on arrival. So much for giving romance and sex the old college try.

She spent a long time falling asleep with her pillow clutched to her chest, desperately wishing it would transform into a person who could finally give Maka the intimacy she never realized she craved. That, too, was a fantasy that dissolved into smoke the moment the sun rose. Luckily for her sanity and her grades, Maka Albarn was not a wallower. She was a problem solver. If she was going to get through college, she had to embrace her bad attitude, to wear it like armor so nothing anyone thought or said could cut her.

If Maka had to become a roaring tiger, then so be it.

And yet, when Maka spied Kid skateboarding through campus, her mouth would snap shut before unsaid declarations poured out. Despite her reinvention, unexpressed feelings still lingered.

The beginning of her sophomore year, she had had enough. In a night of impassioned fury, Maka wrote a letter. A love letter. She had never done something so cliche, but getting her feelings on paper was both a catharsis and the seed of a potentially awful idea. Letting these feelings simmer forever inside until they ate their way to the surface wasn’t healthy. If she was going to put this crush to bed, (figuratively or literally, depending on his reaction), steps had to be taken.

Maka stuck the completed letter and an addressed, but empty envelope in a drawer. That letter was going to make it into Kid’s hands someday, and everything would change. She just didn’t know when.

Her love letter’s journey took a wrong turn once Soul Evans entered the picture.

* * *

**The Song of the Dragon.**

The first thing he noticed about her were the thin chains clipped to the belt loops of her cargo pants, bouncing against her thigh in rhythmic, clinking beats as she swaggered to her seat. At this point, Soul had no idea he and Patty were both from the same city, if you could even consider Long Island and the Brooklyn boonies as being on the same planet, let alone the same metro area. Though he didn’t know the particulars of where she came from, Soul could tell this was one tough chick.

Which is why he was surprised when he saw that the chick with the cool camo pants captured the ocean in her eyes.

There was a playful light in those eyes, a cheery smile on her face. Soul found the obvious dissonance between her gangster chains and sweet smile intriguing. The girls Soul knew from that prison called ‘private school’ came in one flavor of feminine. If this blondie was any indication, polos and pencil skirts were not the standard dress code in the real world. She sized up the class up before squeezing into one of the last seats available at the back of the room. On the first day of class, everyone tried to sit at the back of room, Soul included, and it peeved him that this girl still managed to find a seat behind him, out of sight.

Five minutes passed. The Spanish professor was a notoriously late woman, so Soul sat back. Nine a.m. on the first day of college, Soul had not mustered the courage to talk to anyone, let alone the pretty blonde with the cool-ass chains. He laid his head on his desk, willing himself to fall asleep while he still could.   

In his sleepiness, Soul vaguely heard some skeezeballs at the back of the class start snickering, whispering dirty jokes about the chicks they made out with over orientation or some shit. When he walked in, he immediately pegged those dudes as the type to drop Spanish 203 because it was too early in the morning. Come to think of it, that wasn’t really a bad idea…

The professor was now ten minutes late to the first class of the first semester of Soul’s college career. Somewhere between the yawning and the vulgarity in the back, there was a silent consensus that everyone would just walk out at the fifteen minute mark. Soul was in a solid doze when he was wrenched back into consciousness by the chime of a girl’s voice.

He picked his head off his desk. The class was agape in shock. They were staring at the girl—Patty, he later learned—who looked like she just won bingo. The two guys in the back looked at Patty quizzically, aghast and uncomfortable. Soul did not catch what Patty had said, but it must have been wild.

The dude on the right nervously laughed, and after tugging at his collar he attempted to speak. “Wow. Um, it’s not really cute, you know, when girls talk like that.” His voice was small and squeamish. “I don’t like it.”

Patty threw her head back and laughed, a sound that rang in Soul’s ears like clear bells, and her face snapped upright, black in the eyes, and said in sweet English, “I don’t care if you fucking like it.”

Those skuzzes were visibly startled. Their chairs scooted backwards towards the wall, inching further away as if to avoid Patty’s snapping jaws. But Patty did not snap or snarl. She only giggled and turned back around, focusing now on doodling in her blank Spanish notebook. Soul tipped his chair backwards so he could glance at what she was drawing. It was a waterfall.

Soul was charmed and intimidated all at once.

It turned out that “I don’t care if you fucking like it” was the only sentence Soul would ever hear Patty speak _en ingles_. From then on, the class was taught solely in Spanish under a harsh penalty of a half percentage point per sentence spoken in English. Their professor didn’t give a shit about tardiness or deadlines, but speak a word of English and the claws came out.

The cool thing Soul discovered about language classes was that he could learn a lot about his classmates without going through the arduous process of befriending, hanging out with, or talking to them. After every weekend, break, or holiday, the professor asked the class to make a short speech about what they did. The mandatory monologues soon encapsulated likes and dislikes, future plans, favorite memories, dream vacation, etc. It sucked that Soul had to talk about himself in Spanish on the reg, and he never really meant to learn so much about this girl that piqued his interest, but when she talked, he listened.   

-On weekends, Patty usually worked part-time at the campus Deathbucks.

-When she wasn’t working, Patty played softball on the university team.

-Her first best friend was her sister Liz, and her second best friend was a roommate of indeterminate identity (Marko? Mana? It was hard to decipher Patty’s Spanish accent).

-If she could wish for anything, Patty would wish for enough money to pay her and her sister’s education expenses and to travel the world on a horse-sized pelican.

All of the facts Soul gleaned about Patty over the course of the semester were hazy at best. This was a Spanish class after all. On a good day, Soul only caught about half of what she said, and hell, there were bound to be some inaccuracies. It didn’t help that Patty’s style of speaking was riddled with slang terms and profanities that weren’t included in the textbook (Who taught this girl to speak Spanish so well? Where did she pick up all of these Mexican swear words?).

From watching her in class and piecing together her speeches, Soul guessed that Patty was a hard worker, a fearless comedian, and a determined athlete.  He also guessed that she didn’t really miss home in Brooklyn, that she was intensely protective of her friends, and that she wanted to make her sister proud more than anything in the world.

Soul didn’t have to guess that he was falling in love with her.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to  _go_ in college. Soul was supposed to get trashed every weekend and have a string of meaningless hookups, get it all out of his system until he was ready to become an Adult(™). He was doing a good job of getting sloshed with his friends whenever the opportunity presented itself, but the biddies weren’t clawing at his door.  

When everyone spread rumors that you had red eyes because you either 1) sold your soul to the devil or 2) were addicted to designer drugs, it was hard to get dates.

Patty was never afraid or distrustful of him like the other girls he tried to meet. From their sparse interactions in Spanish class, it was pretty clear that Patty gave zero fucks about most things. Maybe if he asked her out, he would know for certain whether Patty truly gave a shit about his appearance, but he could never muster the Spanish.

Instead, Soul fantasized.  

Truth be told, its hard to fantasize about someone you’ve only heard speak your native language once. There were only so many ways to incorporate “I don’t care if you fucking like it” into a sexual fantasy before it became stale or downright scary.

Maybe it wasn’t normal for other 19 year-old guys, but Soul fantasized about hanging out with girls almost as much as he thought about screwing them. It spoke of his loneliness, of his frustrating inability to convince people that, despite first impressions and appearances, he wasn’t a bad guy. If Patty offered him a chance to be her friend and nothing more, he would sign up in a heartbeat.

Of course, he and Patty weren’t friends. He was just some dude in her Spanish class.

Love letters were never his style, so Soul started toying with the idea of burning her a CD. He liked to think he had good taste in music, and mix-tapes were supposedly the pinnacle of romantic gestures back in the day. Why not resurrect the gesture?  

So he put together a playlist and burned her a CD. Actually, he burned her a couple CDs. A couple dozen.

Fuck, he wasn’t satisfied with any playlist for more than two days. Like composing an overture for his music composition class, Soul viewed most of his early attempts as rough drafts of a concept. What sort of mix-tape should he give her? A mix of his favorites, spanning all genres and musical artists, or a tape with a specific mood or theme? What message was he trying to send? “I don’t know how to say soul mate in Spanish but I think you’re it?”  

He decided to bite the bullet and download “Talk Dirty to Me” to satisfy his sense of irony. It weighed heavily on him that Jason Derulo now contaminated his music collection, but at least he now had a starting point for every iteration of his musical love letter. He hoped Patty would one day find its inclusion in the CD humorous and fitting.  

The crush he silently nurtured over the fall became even more intense in the spring. She recognized him on the first day of Spanish 304 (same professor, same Draconian rules), and spoke a rapid string of Spanish asking about his winter break. He was so shocked he could barely strangle out a response deeper than “It was very cold.” That made her laugh. He liked her sense of humor. At a drop of a hat, Patty could go from goofy and sweet to gritty and vulgar, and there was no way of telling which way she would go. During their few direct interactions, Patty was more on the “goofy and sweet” side of the spectrum. That meant something, right?

Being the only familiar face in their Spanish class, Patty started partnering with Soul on more activities. This was helpful since no one ever wanted to be the demonic albino’s partner. Soul knew he was beginning to get some traction with Patty when she started to call him  _hermano_ _._  He objected to the brotherly connotations of the nickname, but at least it was better than what she called everyone else— _pajero_ _._  Though, in all honesty, _pajero_ probably applied to Soul more than anyone.

One of the annoying things about language classes was that many exercises were based on holidays and seasons. The class celebrated El Dia del Amor y la Amistad in February by performing a skit in Spanish.

_Patty: I can’t believe you cheated on me with her!_

_Harvar: I never thought you would find out!_

_Kim: You were stringing us along the whole time! That is unacceptable!_

_Soul: (enters from right) I was summoned to kill you and eat your soul for hurting these beautiful women!_

_Harvar: Have mercy!_

While the group all received A’s for their creativity and well-spoken Spanish, Soul wished the skit went a little differently. He wondered what it would have been like if he got to play a love interest instead of a mercenary, or what it felt like to actually be a love interest instead of someone’s idea of a thug.

On that day, he actually found the courage to talk to Patty, albeit in Spanish. Soul asked if she actually liked holidays as drenched in shallow commercialism as Valentine’s Day. She replied that she really liked it when boys gave her candy regardless of what day it was, _hermano_. He could get behind that.  

They still weren’t on English-speaking terms when class registration rolled around. At this point, Patty told him she intended to major in Spanish and Linguistics. She had a knack for it. Soul decided he was going to minor in Spanish, because his grades in Spanish weren’t half bad, and there was no way he would ever see Patty in one of his music classes.

“When are you registering?” Patty asked him  _en espanol._ “I’m taking Spanish cinema next fall.”

“Me too!” he replied.

“Awesome!” she said. “In that class, we only watch movies and write in Spanish. That’ll be a change, eh  _hermano?_ ”  

Oh, it would be a change alright. He could barely wait for the day he and Patty conversed in English. But that was when everything was going to change.

Soul promised himself that when sophomore year started, he would stop burying these feelings within himself and take a chance. He was going to give her one of those damn CDs he had lying around his dorm and tell her how he felt.

That was before Maka Albarn forced her way into the picture.


	2. Bolt from the Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul starts off his sophomore year at college by having a terrifying encounter with the Palmtop Tiger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those from Tumblr may recognize the first 1k of this chapter, since I posted it in September. Rest assured, there is more than 6k of new stuff for you to enjoy. Thanks for reading!

The door of the coffee shop was emblazoned with a familiar green trim, but instead of the trademark mermaid that dotted every corner in New York City, the circular logo slapped on each wall, doorway, and coffee cup featured a cartoonish skull. The most incriminating evidence of plagiarism was the coffee shop's name-Deathbucks.

"How the hell hasn't this place been  _sued_  yet?" Soul wondered aloud. He fingered the shoulder strap of his bag, gathering his courage. The overwhelming whirlwind of sophomore year had only just begun, and already Soul felt the weight of his classes hang heavily on his psyche. This school year wasn't going to be easy, but he had a feeling it was turning around.

Soul pushed open the door of the coffee shop, resolute. This year, things were going to go differently. No more rumors that he was a demon some drunk freshman summoned with a spell off the internet. No more whispers that Soul was secretly a mass arsonist, a cult leader, a serial killer, or a death eater. No, this was his year to shine, his year to show everyone that red eyes and sharp teeth didn't mark him as the spawn of Satan. He just had to get over his anxiety and take the first step.

And if that meant finally making a move on a certain sandy blonde, well, he wasn't gonna complain.

A bell chimed as he walked through the doorway and scanned the room. Laptops, cords, text books, and papers were sprawled across almost every table top. What few booths were available were already full, and the table situation was just as dire. He spotted an open space in the middle and cautiously maneuvered through the chairs.

Soul opened his laptop and settled down. No one had really noted his presence yet, which was just fine with him. People didn't react to his appearance with nearly as much terrified violence as they did in highschool or the first semester of freshman year. Last year, his roommate Kid suggested that if Soul was seen around campus often enough, people would just get used to him. Thanks to Soul's small, yet supportive circle of bros, that plan seemed to be working. Deathbucks' usual medley of casual conversation, coffee mixing, and rapid typing continued uninterrupted by his presence. Best of all, Soul didn't even rely on Kid or Blake to back him up. He had successfully struck out on his own.

He fished his laptop charger out of his bag, and while free outlets were scarce, he quickly spied one on the ground, partially covered by the flip flop of the girl sitting across from him. Interacting with college girls was a puzzle he had yet to figure out, but maybe today was his lucky day.

"Sorry, can you move for a sec so I can get to that outlet?" Soul asked. This was it.

The girl briefly poked her head from behind her laptop. "Nah," she sneered before retreating behind her screen.

Her boldness was startling. One look at Soul's mean face usually sent girls running, but she held her ground. Moreover, she was rude. Very rude. Who says no to moving their flip flop for a couple seconds?

Both curious and embarrassed, Soul resolved to reason with this rude girl. He stood up and leaned over her computer, but once he got a good look at her, he jerked backwards in surprise. "It's you!"

Maka Albarn, better known throughout the student body as the Palmtop Tiger, wrinkled her nose in annoyance. "What, do we know each other?"

"You don't remember me?" She stared at him blankly until Soul was sick of the silence. "You slapped me in the face with 'The Count of Monte Cristo' the first week of freshman year."

* * *

It was one of his most humiliating and humbling memories. One year prior, he had met the feisty Maka Albarn at happy hour. Every Friday, happy hour at the Tombs, DCU's college bar, was the place to be between 4:30 and 7 p.m. It heralded in the weekend, and on that particular Friday, it had signaled the start of a new semester. Soul had been dragged there by new friend Blake, who had taken an instant liking to him, and his roommate Kid. It had made him nervous to be in such a crowded place surrounded by people who wouldn't like him, but it was also the first time Soul had hung out with his new friends outside the dorm. Soul had felt ecstatic.

When they got inside, Blake took out a colorful array of wristbands he had stashed in his pocket. "What color is it today? Green? Alriiight," Blake said. He slapped green wristbands on each of their right wrists (and Kid's left wrist).

The place was too crowded to even see the bar, let alone order from it, prompting Blake to push Soul forward. "Do that thing you did in the dining hall. Remember, the chicken nugget line?"

"Uh, you mean the thing where I exist and everyone runs away?"

"Doooo it."

Soul approached the bar. Without pushing or speaking to anyone, patrons quickly vacated their barstools to maintain a comfortable distance from the murderous-looking freshman. The bartenders, too, would have stayed out of Soul's five foot radius if they were not already trapped serving drinks.

Blake clapped Soul on the back. "Way to go, man. Seriously, I'm taking you  _everywhere_ with me. Welcome to the crew." While it sucked to already be the campus pariah, Soul couldn't help but smile in response.

Kid, staring across the room, released a small yelp. "A group of sorority women just gave up their booth! Get me a gin and tonic, would you?" Without another word, his roommate sashayed through the crowd to pounce on the open booth.

Soul had been holding two triple-well drinks, a whiskey coke in his left hand and a gin and tonic in his right, and searching for wherever Kid went when it happened. As he looked over a hundred heads to find his friend, Soul bumped into somebody. Hard. His whiskey coke, sleek from condensation, slipped. It spilled.

The apologies were out of Soul's mouth before he even looked down. "Whoah, I'm so sorry!"

The girl was a slight thing, short, with sopping wet pigtails dangling by her neck and fluffy bangs plastered to her forehead. His whiskey coke had spilled right on top of her head, drenched her shoulders, and dripped down the front of her blouse. Her small polka-dotted bra was visible through the translucent fabric, as was the deep flush crawling up her neck and heating her cheeks. Soul repeated that he was sorry, that he would pay for her laundry and her next drink, but all she did was stare at the floor. Even with her face cast downwards, Soul could sense a strange intensity about her.

The room was awash with whispers.

"Soul Evans the psycho just poured his drink on  _the Palmtop Tiger!_ "

"Oh my god, it's like a clash of the titans!"

"A battle for top dog!"

"My bet is on the death eater-"

_Palmtop Tiger?_ What on earth did that mean? "Look, I'm sorry okay?" Soul said again. "I didn't see where I was going."

Soul heard a low growling, and his heart dropped to his stomach when he realized its source. It was the girl. She slowly tilted her head upwards, slowly and slowly, until her livid, green eyes finally peeked up at him through wet bangs and furrowed eyebrows. She curled her upper lip like an animal, and whipped a hardcover book out of god knows where.

A shrill battle cry. A sharp impact. Spilt alcohol. The rest was history.

* * *

DCU had a large student body, so it was a relief when Soul didn't run into Maka again for the rest of the year. Now, a sophomore ready to start things the right way, he was once again face-to-face with the Palmtop Tiger.

After listening to Soul remind her of that day, Maka just shrugged. "My copy of 'Monte Cristo' has slapped dozens of dumb guys, so sorry if I didn't recognize you right away."

Soul was thinking up the perfect retort when he heard his name called across the room. It was Kid, his roommate and friend, who had finally arrived at Deathbucks with arms full of study materials. Maka, who had been so bold and mouthy a moment before, immediately slumped out of view to hide behind her laptop screen. Still standing, Soul could see that her face turned a bright shade of red.

"Soul Evans is actually studying on his own volition? I never thought I would see this day," Kid said, striding over to his roommate. He beamed like a proud father. "And making conversation on his own too. It really is a new school year. So, who is your new friend?"

Before Soul had a chance to introduce Kid to a girl who was not by any definition his friend, Maka squawked like a frazzled pidgeon, and scrambled to stuff all of her papers into her bag without sparing one glance towards the two boys. Tucking her laptop underneath her arm, Maka burst out of her seat and stumbled away. The bell chimed as she went out the door.

"I guess she was just leaving," Soul said, baffled.

"I guess so," Kid replied.

Soul ended up messing around on Youtube while Kid peacefully studied across from him. It was a new year, but Soul wasn't  _that_ reformed. Instead of thinking about Art History or his assignment for Music Comp, he thought of a certain blonde with a tiny frame and a huge temper. The way she fearlessly held his gaze without fear or nerves, the manner in which she staggered away in fright at the sight of Soul's more normal friend.

What the hell was up with Maka Albarn?

Despite going an entire academic year without one tiger sighting, he spotted her for the second time in a single day in the dining hall that evening. Soul wasn't sure how he picked her pigtailed head out of the crowded cafeteria, but his eyes were drawn to her instantly. She was sitting several tables away, alone, nose in a book, with one hand absent-mindedly delivering french fries from her plate to her mouth. As if she sensed his presence, Maka's eyes flicked in his direction. Her gaze held his own for a second before darting over his left shoulder and back to her book.

"There's a free table over there," Kid said, appearing on Soul's left. "Come on then, we mustn't let the freshman steal all the prime seating."

It was only the third day of class, and Soul had already concluded that freshmen were dirty little locusts that swarmed the dining hall and pilfered cafeteria utensils for no damn reason than to get on his nerves. They all looked so terrified all the time, at least when he was around. A couple of freshman girls moved to swoop in and claim their table, but one look at Soul sent them scurrying. Another bitter reminder that while his freaky face was old news to upperclassmen, Soul was probably going to give freshman nightmares for months to come. Great.

Self-conscious, Soul rubbed the tips of his white fringe between his fingers to avoid making accidental eye contact with anyone. Deathbucks must have been a fluke.

The two boys dumped their black backpacks in a heap on the table, marking it as theirs for at least a good hour or so. They walked together to the stir fry line. The prospect of steaming hot carbohydrates usually improved his mood, but when Soul ordered his penne with marinara sauce and spinach, the ravenous look on his face actually made the lunch lady shriek. Fed up, he stared into space, his expression grim.

"You have that evil glint in your eyes again," Kid said matter-of-factly after he ordered tofu, soy sauce, and brown rice. "That usually means you are either entertaining dark thoughts or feeling deliriously happy. Which is it?"

Soul shot Kid a withering look. "I'm just not looking forward to spending another semester convincing people that I'm not deranged."

"Oh come now, not everyone thinks you're an albino Ted Bundy," Kid said. "I know you're alright. Blake knows. Tsubaki knows. In fact, I think people are warming up to you faster than you realize. Just wait and see." If only Soul could be as optimistic and enthusiastic as Kid, who was by and large among the most popular and well known students on campus. Still, those were encouraging words to hear.

They were watching their food sizzle and smoke on their respective frying pans when the third and final member of their inner circle, Blake Barrett, paraded in with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Couldn't get here at 7 p.m. sharp because I was chilling with White Star," Blake said. "He, me, Red Star, and Dark Star, we're planning something  _big_. The frosh won't even know what hit them." They shuffled forward in line and Blake, in his usual way, muscled between Soul and Kid so he wouldn't have to queue up with the rest of the peasants. Not that Blake noticed any plebian glares. When Star Frat was on his mind, it usually took his girlfriend with a riding crop to shut him up.

Blake was still talking when they returned to their seats with platefuls of pasta and rice. It was astounding how long Blake could talk about his fraternity without actually telling his friends anything concrete. As unaffiliated men, Soul and Kid weren't privy to the inner politics and rituals of Sigma Tau Rho, and to be perfectly honest, neither of them wanted to be. While they had few interests in common, they bonded over their shared hatred for frat bros and wild, gross parties.

"Dark Star's got a new vat recipe, and we're all gonna taste test it at chapter," Blake said with a mouthful of spaghetti. "Though honestly, I always say that the best vat is just kool aid and everclear. It's a simple recipe, why fuck with it? I guess White Star and Red Star are worried the peasant freshman won't stick around if its not fruity enough, but-"

"Who are you even talking about?" Kid groaned.

Without missing a beat, Blake swallowed his spaghetti and rattled off names. "White Star is Eric, Dark Star is Stuart, but he likes to go by Axel now, Red Star is Jeremy, I'm Black Star,  _duh_ , Green Star is-shit, no,  _Axel_ is Green Star, and  _Andy_ is Dark-"

"Let's just forget all the nicknames," Kid said, rubbing his temples. "It's too difficult to keep all of them straight when you ramble on like this. How about we declare this area," he gestured around their table. "a no nickname zone. Soul, you wouldn't mind this table being a  _no_   _Star Frat zone_ , right?"

"As a long-time resident of the 'I don't give a fuck zone,' I'll remain neutral." Soul said.

Kid looked disappointed, probably because he was hoping for an ally against Blake's fraternity-talk. "I just feel that when we talk about friends outside our little group, we should use their  _real_  names," he persisted. "It's less confusing."

Their louder friend looked annoyed for only a moment before a wide, mischievous grin spread across his face. "What a great idea  _Dean Theodore_ ," Blake said, clasping his hands on the table. Soul glanced at his other roommate, who had pressed his lips together in a fine line. "Let's just call each other our Christian names. That sounds damn fantastic," Blake continued. "It's such a good idea, a god like me should have thought of it ages ago. Thanks a lot, Dean."

"You know what I meant!"

"I'm sorry," Blake said sweetly. "Is 'Kid' on your driver's license? Your birth certificate? If it's not recognized by the state of Nevada, I can't say it, because unlike you, I respect the laws of the land. Respect the zone, Dean. Respect it."

Soul watched his friends bicker across the table, amused, and to make more room for his plate and elbows, he grabbed his backpack from the middle of the table and set it on his lap. For once, all of its pockets were zipped up. It was a habit of his to only zip the largest pocket three quarters of the way, maybe a little more when he was carrying heavy textbooks, because he liked the slouchy "idgaf" vibe it gave him as he sauntered around campus. A visual reminder that he didn't care about people or what they thought of him, which wasn't true, but they didn't need to know that.

After sharing a dorm room with the neurotic Kid for a full year already, it was obvious who was behind Soul's mysteriously zipped pockets.  _I'll remind Kid not to touch my shit later,_  Soul thought to himself as he examined his backpack, though a part of him knew it wouldn't do any good. He laid his backpack at his feet and turned to spear a penne noodle with his fork and reenter the conversation-

The sudden  _clap_ of a book snapping shut caused Soul to jump in his seat and nearly choke on his pasta. His head immediately turned to the source of the sound. It was Maka Albarn, staring towards him with intense green eyes, holding a thick novel between her quivering hands. He glanced around and rubbed his mouth. Was she staring at  _him_? Was there marinara sauce on his face? Oh god, why was she maddogging him so hard? What did he did he ever do to her? Maka puffed her slowly reddening cheeks and began to collect her things with haste. It was like watching her escape Deathbucks again, but this time she was even more panicked. Whatever set her off must have rattled her to the core.

He was raised not to make assumptions about people, a maxim he stuck to despite being on the receiving end of so many harsh judgements, so Soul didn't want to jump to conclusions about whatever was going on with the Palmtop Tiger. Judging by the last hateful glance she threw at him across the cafeteria on her way out, it wasn't anything good.

"Fine," Kid said. He and Blake had argued throughout Albarn's dramatic exit. "You win. Use your power ranger names, I don't care. Just never refer to me by that abominable name ever again."

His surrender was bitter and reluctant, but it was all Blake needed. "I knew you'd see it my way, Dean," Blake replied with a wink. "Anyways, if our fraternity names confused you so much, you shoulda just said so…"

The remainder of dinner passed without incident (though Blake did get some pasta sauce on Kid's pants) and the three parted ways. Kid spent a couple hours at the library every night to help poor souls navigate their way through the perilous straits of calculus. Blake left to rendezvous with "the bae," with whom he expected to spend the whole night. Soul, having no life outside the music department, his two friends, and Skyrim, headed to the Gallows.

He was walking through the residential quad, pretending he didn't see people trudge through the mud so they could bypass him on the sidewalk, when he heard a familiar voice wail an even more familiar word.

" _HERMANOOO_!" Soul's head snapped to the side, seeking out the source of the voice he had been thinking about all summer-Patty Thompson. His eyes darted around, searching for the person Patty must be speaking to, and when he saw no one, he realized that she was actually talking to him. Their first class of the semester was tomorrow, and while he had already thought of some things to talk about when they reunited in Spanish, he was woefully unprepared to meet her now. She bounded towards him with the grace and energy of a deer, and downright bounced when she landed right in front of him.

"Heya! Remember me? From Spanish class all last year?" Patty asked in wonderful, heart-melting English.

Soul tried to respond, but his tongue must have swollen up or something.  _¡Habla!_  dammit! "Yeah I remember," he struggled out. "You're Patty Thompson. Linguistics major."

"Whoah, you even remembered my major!" Patty said, surprised and delighted. Soul cursed himself for accidentally letting on the small fact that he basically remembered everything about her. His red face and stammering voice were the absolute  _opposite_  of playing it cool. "I just saw you walking and wanted to say hey."

_Holy shit, holy shit._ "Yeah, hi." Basically anything Soul said to her was going to qualify as awkward small talk, but even with such low expectations he couldn't muster anything coherent. "What you doing?"

"Huh?"

"What  _are_ you doing?" He corrected, cheeks flaring.

Patty's mouth formed a cute 'o.' "Heading to work. I'm starting at a pizza delivery downtown now. There's more money in it than being a barista, and it's easy to work around my RA schedule."

" _You're_ an RA?" Soul asked incredulously. Realizing he sounded a bit  _too_ surprised, he backpedaled. "I mean, I just didn't know you would want to do that."

She gave him a pragmatic shrug. "Eh, room and board is free, my meal plan is discounted, and I get a stipend. For that, I can handle a couple dozen freshmen. Anywayyys," Patty already began to walk away from him backwards. "I gotta run. Those pizzas aren't sentient enough to deliver themselves, which is good because if they were, humanity would be doooomed!"

Soul said a nervous goodbye as Patty skipped away just as abruptly as she arrived. During the rest of the walk home he had a bit more spring in his step. Yeah, sure, his first English conversation with Patty turned out to be about pizza and jobs, but even small progress was progress. He took the win.

Soul's buoyant mood made the walk to the Gallows fly by. Unlike the other dorms, the Gallows housed upperclassmen who opted to stay on-campus instead of finding housing on their own. Sophomores normally were not allowed to live in the large, spacious building, but Kid pulled a few strings with his dad and got their small group set up in a suite. Three bedrooms, a living room, a compact kitchen, and a fancy bathroom was a pretty sweet deal, even if meant keeping the place impeccably clean to satisfy Kid's neurosis.

Once inside, Soul quickly retreated to left-most room in the apartment-his room. Not bothering to shut his bedroom door, he unzipped the largest pocket of his backpack and dumped its contents on the floor. Books, scraps of paper, and uncapped pens fell out in a scattered pile, and he lazily shifted through them to find the syllabus for his Art History class. Soul didn't mind mess because there was always someone there to clean it up for him. College was supposed to be his big wake-up call when it came to domestic chores, but then, well,  _Kid_  happened.

He was mulling over whether he should reward himself by starting the night off with a study break when something strange caught his eye. Underneath his thin Spanish textbook was what looked like a letter. Soul was by no means an organized person, but he would have remembered if he received a letter somewhere. He picked it up to examine it more closely, only to discover that the envelope wasn't addressed to him at all.

_To: DT "Kid" Kidman._

_From: Maka Albarn (You don't have to open this if you don't want to!)_

Raising an eyebrow, Soul slowly flipped the letter over to the other side, where it was sealed with a heart-shaped sticker.

"Kid, you dog," Soul muttered aloud. Albarn's weird behavior at dinner didn't seem so random anymore. She must have tried to plant this into Kid's bag while it was left unattended, but slipped it into Soul's by mistake. And what was inside said letter? Well, judging by the heart emblazoned on the back, it looked like a certain pig-tailed somebody had a burning crush on a certain roommate of his. Fancy that. He could only imagine her frustration when he gave it back to her. Though it was dead obvious what it was for, she couldn't do anything to him because Soul could always claim that it was sealed and he had no idea-

While fumbling with the letter, the sticker popped off and the envelope flapped open. " _SHIT!"_ Soul exclaimed, quickly resealing it. How many times did she put on and remove this sticker? The adhesive was barely usable. It flapped open again, defying him, and somewhere between clutching the envelope and smushing the sticker, Soul made a horrifying discovery.

There was nothing inside.

He eventually got the sticker to do its damn job and stick to something, but the fact remained that it held nothing, concealed nothing. It made him wonder what exactly was going through Maka's mind when she stuffed the envelope into his backpack. She must have been running on a mad amount of adrenaline to not only deliver a love letter to the wrong person, but to also forget the actual letter altogether. It was stupid. It was impulsive. It sounded exactly like something he would do, in similar circumstances.

Uncertain of what to do with this empty, paperthin envelope, he stuck it inside his desk drawer. If Soul was good at anything, it was putting off potentially unpleasant interactions until the last minute.

Soul decided to take that study break. He figured that completing a couple quests in Skyrim would give him time to mull over what to do with the envelope, but when his mind wandered away from fighting dragons or pick pocketing NPCs, it was to think about Patty and the excitement in her blue eyes as she skipped across the quad to greet him.

It was only 9 p.m. when his eyelids began to feel heavy, and the graphics on the TV screen blurred. Too lazy to even make it to his bed, Soul left the game running as he fell asleep on the couch.

He felt like his eyes had only been shut for a second when a muffled crash woke him up. The epic score on the Skyrim load screen continued to play on a loop, and Soul rubbed his eyes languidly stretched. All of the lights were off, but his hazy memory contained no recollection of switching them off. Perhaps Blake or Kid returned home already. Soul did leave the front door unlocked for them, after all.

The darkness beckoned him to fall back asleep, but sound of shuffling papers drew Soul's attention towards his own bedroom door.

"Hey guys?" Soul asked, warily rising from the couch. "Blake, is that you? Dude, jumping out at me in the dark gets old after the third time. Seriously." He switched off the television, causing the roaring chanting and orchestra of the Skyrim OST blip into silence.

Shaking his head, Soul lumbered to his bedroom and opened the door, fully prepared for Blake's trademark howl.

Instead of hearing Blake scream in his face, something hard smacked Soul on the forehead. He stumbled backwards, reeling from the pain spreading across his skull. In the darkness he saw a slight figure in his room, silhouetted by the sparse moonlight pouring through his window. It advanced towards him with menace, only to slip on the pile of papers he had deposited on the floor early that evening. Judging by his or her girly squeak, the person in his room was not Blake Barrett.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, the mysterious silhouette gained a more definitive, human shape. Wait a second. Soul  _recognized_ this teeny person. As the figure recovered from tripping over his stuff, he took the opportunity to fumble with the light switch.

The light flickered on, and Maka Albarn glowered at him from his bedroom floor.

"ALBARRRN!?" Soul shouted in a mixture of horror and surprise. Realizing she was out of ammunition, Albarn scrambled towards his bookcase and started grabbing textbooks off the shelves. Soon, his Art History textbook was flying across the room, followed by this Spanish workbook, and his copy of "Watchmen." She even flung his thick Music Theory book with practiced finesse, and in an astonishing display of hand-eye coordination, Soul caught it between the palms of his hands before the spinning object hit his forehead. It was the most ninja thing he had ever done. Blake would never believe it.

Unfortunately, Maka was upon him before he could congratulate himself or celebrate. Abandoning her position by the bookshelf, she lunged at him like a ferocious cat, prompting him to dodge her by ducking to the ground. This was a bad move, because suddenly she was on top of his back, using her entire weight to pin him to the floor with a painful  _thump._ Winded, he didn't struggle when she flipped him onto his back and sat on his torso. The fact that she mounted him while only wearing a flouncy plaid skirt didn't concern her in the least.

Soul had fantasized plenty of times about being straddled by an authoritative woman, but none of those dreams went like this.

"Where is it?" she seethed through her teeth. "It's not in your bag, it's not on your desk. Where is it?" Before he could answer her, Maka's face went white. "You-you read it didn't you? Didn't you?"

"I don't know!" Soul answered. He was desperately trying to avoid her face, which loomed above him like an angry sun. "I haven't read anything. I don't read. I don't know what you are talking about!"

Maka's nostrils flared. "If you don't know what I'm talking about, then how come it's not in your bag, where I put it?"

She had him there. "Oh, the letter! It's in my desk drawer, alright? I'll give it to you if you let mMMMRPH!" One small hand smothered his words, and the other one secured on of his wrists. His free hand, laying by his side, was pinned by her knee.

"This is a nightmare," Maka said ruefully. "This isn't how it was supposed to go. I screwed up. I screwed it all up." Her hand remained clamped over his mouth, and she looked at him imploringly. "If it means anything, I never meant for you to get caught in the middle of this. I don't break into people's apartments, ever, and I don't like hitting people, and I really-" Soul irreverently rolled his eyes, and she shook his face in retaliation. "Hey! I'm being serious, you asshat! I genuinely feel bad about what I have to do to you!"

Still gagged, Soul gave her an alarmed look. "I'm sorry, Soul," Maka said. Finally releasing his mouth, and before he could ask her how she knew his name, Maka produced a hardback copy of "Moby Dick" from her pocket, or her jacket, or  _somewhere_ , and she gripped it in her hands. "It's just gonna be a light concussion," she said slowly. "The softest one I can give. Just enough to smack some brain cells and blur your recent memory. Don't worry, I'll get you immediate medical attention."

"Well aren't you the goddess of congeniality," Soul said with caustic bite. Maka in fact did look like a goddess, her vibrant eyes burning with elemental fury and her hair framing her face like a golden halo. She was stunning in every sense of the word, but it was verb-form that left him paralyzed as her mouth twisted with ire.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" She raised the novel above his head, an executioner raising her axe above the chopping block. "It's either you forget or I skip town, and I'm  _not_  leaving." Her hand quivered in the air as she gathered her resolve, and Soul swallowed. He had never read "Moby Dick," but it certainly looked like it could give him more that a light concussion. "I will do anything it takes to make you forget that  _stupid love lett_ -"

Soul shut his eyes and yelled, " _The envelope was empty!"_

After one long, tense moment, "Moby Dick" clattered to the floor, missing his skull completely. Maka's arm remained in the air, stock still with shock. "It was...empty?"

"Yeah," Soul said, breathless. After being sat on for ten minutes and narrowly escaping head trauma, he felt like he just ran a marathon. "There was nothing for me to read." Maka rolled onto the balls of her feet, finally releasing Soul from her death grip, and she sat against the wall. "I guess it's a good thing you put it in my backpack instead of Kid's," Soul said as he heaved himself off the floor. "Now he doesn't know how bad you messed up."

Maka stared ahead into space, unbelieving. Soul got back to his feet and ambled over to his desk. The envelope, empty and lifeless, was still where he left it. Part of him feared she would still concuss him, so when he handed her the envelope, he swiftly retreated on to his bed. Yeah, having the high ground would help him if she decided to come at him again. Maybe he would actually fight back this time, not that he really knew how. He had never hit anybody his entire life, much less a girl.

But there was nothing ferocious or vengeful about the Palmtop Tiger. Maka pulled her knees to her chest, methodically unsealed the envelope, and peered inside for a single second, as if she was afraid of what she would find there. Of course there was nothing, and she released a small whimper and rested her forehead on her knees.

Though she had not spoken since threatening to concuss him, Soul knew that he had nothing to fear from Maka now. In fact, his real worry now was that she was going to start crying in his room, which was honestly more terrifying. This was the Palmtop Tiger, the girl who KO'd him with one punch. He never expected to see her cry, let alone in his room, and worst yet, he empathized with her. She had attempted to do the very same thing he had been obsessing over for months, except with a lot more courage and a little less tact. After she sniffed once, he felt compelled to do something, anything to help her feel less alone.

"Don't be embarrassed," Soul said. His voice felt dry and brittle, but he hoped she could hear his sincerity. "Really, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Just wait a minute."

He hopped off his bed and kneeled onto the ground. A cardboard box lay swathed in shadows, sitting all the way against the wall. He army-crawled into the darkness and pulled the box out into the open. Though he didn't know the origin of this impulse, Soul did know that he hated seeing the tumult of rejection and heartache written so plainly on Maka's face. She had to know-no, she had to be  _shown_  that she wasn't the only person struggling. He had to show her that beneath his demonic eyes and her angel hair, they were one and the same.

"Behold," Soul said. He pushed the box towards Maka and kneeled across from her on the carpeted floor. She gave him a questioning look before picking up a random CD cover. "I bet you've never seen one of those before," he said, earning a suspicious glance from Maka. "So, there's this girl I like, and those are all the mixtapes I've made for her. Those on top are the driving playlists; I've got one for every season. I don't have a car, but you know...And if you dig deep enough, you'll probably find the original songs I tried to compose for her. I'm shitty at lyrics, so its mostly just sheet music."

Maka drew another CD out of the box and wrinkled her nose. "Baby-making Tunes #6: Candles and Rose Petals," she read with quiet disgust. "Why the  _hell_ do you have six playlists for having sex?"

"First of all, there are nine," Soul said candidly, causing Maka's expression to sour. "And second of all, they're for different, you know, moods and holidays and stuff. If you listened to them, you would hear the difference."

"I am  _never_  listening to one of your gross mixtapes," she said, dropping the CD case back into the box. Though she had only just vowed to never listen to any of his playlists, she continued to sift through the box, withdrawing a dark red CD case and opening it with interest.

Sighing, Soul decided it was time to level with her. "The point is that even though I don't have the balls to admit how I feel about her, I'm still not ashamed of it. And you shouldn't be either! Hell, you actually  _did_  something. That's half the battle. Honestly, I think all you have to do is put yourself out there. Stay positive, be brave, take a chance."

"For Patricia Thompson." Maka read aloud with narrow eyes.

Soul nodded along in agreement. "Exactly, be confident just like Patty-" His mouth felt uncannily dry as he stopped short. Maka wasn't just examining all of his mixtapes. She was opening them up, scrutinizing them, and worst of all,  _reading_  the dedication blurbs he scrawled in his jagged handwriting.

For the first time since they met, Maka's eyes swept up and down Soul's body, appraising him. "Wowwww," she said in one long, dry breath. "You aim  _high._  Patty is so way out of your league."

It stung to be dismissed by someone arguably as loserish and he was, but he also couldn't help but agree. "You know Patty, huh?"

"She's my best friend."

The sound of every string in an entire orchestra snapping mid-symphony could not convey Soul's heart-stopping horror. " _What?"_

"If your plan was to make me pity you enough to not give you a concussion," Maka said, dropping in the CD back into the box. "You totally succeeded. God, now I feel like I need to shower for like six weeks."

"You and me both," Soul agreed. The situation was finally defused. Now all he had to do was get her to leave him in peace and put this whole incident behind him. "Look, why don't you just take your empty love letter and go. Your mission is already a fail, and it's late. Just go home."

"Yeah, sure," Maka said, slowly getting back to her feet. She cast a disparaging look in Soul's direction and straightened the pleats in the skirt. "Patty's gonna get a real kick out of this one."

Soul's mouth fell open a little. He had just bore his entire soul to this girl, who by the way had broken into his apartment, manhandled his textbooks, and tackled him to the ground-and she was gonna betray him. "You ungrateful little snot."

"Sorry, not sorry," she murmured. The blonde refused to look him in the eye, but her tone remained as unyielding as steel. "I can't trust you to keep my secret, so it's game over for both of us." Maka's sense of self-preservation was definitely twisted. He didn't know why he expected anything else from the Palmtop Tiger, the girl who shoots first and asks questions  _never_. Soul set his jaw. If she insisted that they both go down in flames together, so be it.

He walked her out of his room and towards the door, numb with dread. Tomorrow was his first Spanish Cinema class with Patty. Was she going to greet with friendly enthusiasm like before, or was she going to avoid him like a stalkerish leper? Soul could find comfort in Maka's similarly stricken face. At least she was just as royally screwed as him.

"Pretty swanky place," Maka said with offhanded interest. "You must have really cozied up to someone in HRA to room here." It was clear that she was just trying to fill the silence until she was out the door, home free.

"Well when your roommate is the university president's son, you get a few perks," Soul said. Maka's back stiffened, and she slowly turned around to face Soul, her face white as a sheet. "What?" Soul asked. "Did you not know Kid-"'

As if on cue, the front door to the dorm swung open, and Kid flew through in a blur. He didn't register Maka's presence, nor did he give Soul more than a perfunctory hello before he dashed towards the middle bedroom of the apartment

"Hey Soul, just getting my green highlighter, can't study calculus without my green highlighter, dear god what was I  _thinking_ leaving it-" Kid's ranting became muffled as he entered his room and closed the door behind him. Maka was standing stock still with the wide, terrified eyes of a deer caught in the middle of an intersection. She shot Soul a desperate look, a silent cry for help.

"-and she offered me a  _yellow_ one," Kid scoffed as he swiftly exited his room. "Can't use yellow, yellow is strictly for polisci. Highlighter yellow is a terrible, garish color anyway and-oh, hello." Gold eyes honed in one Maka's slightly quivering form. She stared right back at him, stupefied, but if Kid noticed her strange behavior he didn't let it on. "I'm so rude, barging in and ranting away. This is your friend from earlier, right?" Kid asked, turning to Soul.

Maka's awe-stricken eyes tore away from Kid and locked with Soul's own. Underneath the fire and brimstone of her personality, there was a cold and deep-seated terror. If Soul was going to give her up, humiliate her in front of the boy she was desperately in love with, this was his chance. She audibly swallowed, but her gaze didn't waver. A word from him, and she would be out of both Soul and Kid's life for good. It would be the cruelest, most perfect revenge.

But, despite all the whispers about his so-called criminal record, Soul Evans was far from cruel.

He finally cracked a crooked grin. "Yeah, Maka. She came over so we could hang out." The corners of Maka's mouth twitched into smile and her shoulders relaxed with relief. "It's too bad, she was actually just leav-"

"Exchanging numbers," Maka blurted over him. Without giving Soul even a look of warning, she whipped her cellphone out of her pocket and freaking  _pegged_  it at him, hitting him in the center of his rib cage. The phone bounced off his chest, and after Soul recoiled in pain he juggled it between his hands, thankfully not shattering it on the ground. Skeptical of her intentions, Soul input his information into her contacts while Maka and Kid engaged in stilted small talk.

"I've seen you around haven't I?" Kid said. "I'm sure of it, we've had a class together before."

"Yep, literary theory and american lit," Maka said with a strange warble in her voice.

"I remember now! Do you have class with Soul too?"

"No, no, I, we-" She glanced at Soul.

"We have a mutual friend," Soul spoke up. He tossed Maka's phone back to her, which she easily caught. "Girl in my Spanish class."

Several beats of silence passed between them. Kid beamed at Maka, who immediately avoided his gaze by glancing at Soul, who avoided  _her_ gaze by looking at the floor, which drew Kid's attention away from Maka, which allowed her to ogle him, and finally caused Soul to look back with a distinct expression of vexation and boredom. "Well that's great," Kid said, breaking the silence. He glanced at the glittering watch on his left hand. "Sorry, I really must run. I'm supposed to be at the library, but I'll see you both around another time!" He gave Soul a small thumbs up before promptly exiting the apartment and slamming the door behind him.

Maka released a long, dramatic exhale and flopped onto the couch. She rubbed her face and adopted the haggard, exhausted look of an overworked, underslept professor, and when she made no move to get up or leave, Soul joined her.

"What's your game?" Maka finally asked. There was still fight left in her, even if she was emotionally drained. "Why did you cover for me? I'm not going to let you blackmail me if that's what you're thinking."

"Don't accuse me of something I'm not gonna do," Soul responded. "Sometimes people do things for reasons other than to start a fight or screw you over."

"Oh."

"You must like him a lot," Soul continued. He looked up at the ceiling with a cocky, amused grin. "When you aren't committing B&E, you're just a big nerd who gets tongue tied in front of your crush. It's hilarious."

"Shut up. Hey, is this your real number or a fake?"

Soul looked back at her and saw that Maka was scrolling through her phone. "What kind of question is that? Of course it's real. Wait, do you use fake numbers?"

"I give most guys my papa's number," she said. "It's a life-saver, you have no idea."

Their parting was awkward. She mumbled a few apologies, he responded with a few assurances, and they both said farewell with some variation of "see you later." There was no malice or ill will between them. It was almost like they were friends.

Before falling asleep that night, this time in his real bed, the screen of his phone lit up with a new message from an unknown number.

_This is Maka. Good luck in Spanish tomorrow. :)_


	3. Brontide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul deals with the aftermath of Maka's nighttime visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a bit to update. I didn't have a clear picture of this chapter when I started, so it turned out much differently than expected! The pace will speed up after this. Thanks to Professor Maka and Khaleesimaka for betaing. As always, comments and feedback are appreciated.

The next morning, Soul was awakened by the increasingly familiar, but nonetheless uncomfortable sensation of someone sitting on him. He couldn't see through the sleep in his eyes, and he massaged the inner corners with his thumb and forefinger.

"Makaaaa,' he sleepily mumbled. His voice felt a little strained from all the screaming and begging for his life last night. "Get off of meee."

"GODDAMN SO IT IS TRUE!" Despite the amount of crust sealing them shut, Soul's eyelids pried themselves apart in order to make unfocused eye contact with Blake Barrett. Although Soul was essentially blind without glasses or contact lenses, there was no mistaking that blur of blue. His roommate's face hovered over him, wearing what was certain to be a wide, smug grin. "Dude," Blake said. "You have some 'splainin' to do."

"Fuck off!" Soul wheezed. Blake was much shorter than Soul, but he was five foot and five inches of pure muscle. When his roommate finally rolled off of him and onto the floor, it felt like being freed from the crushing pressure of a bag of bricks.

"I was all cuddled up with Tsubaki when I got this," Blake said, thrusting his smartphone into Soul's face. After he absently reached for his glasses on his nightstand and put them on, Soul screwed up his face and squinted at the phone screen. It was a text conversation between Kid and Blake.

_Kidoferson (11:15pm): I have news. Soul might be_ alright _after all. He has a friend over right now!_

_Kidoferson (11:21pm): Have you heard of a Maka before?_

_Black*Star (11:21pm): JESUS FUCK_

Soul pursed his lips and further scrutinized the texts. "Do you guys…talk about me or something?"

Blake rolled his eyes and snatched his phone out of Soul's hands. "So me and Kid have long, meaningful discussions about your well being. Big whoop, who cares." Soul rose from his bed and stood on unsteady feet. Without speaking to or acknowledging his roommate, he ambled out of his room and towards their shared bathroom. Blake was close on his heels. "The point is," he persisted. "You brought a girl back here. I can't believe you brought a girl back here without talking it through with me first!"

Squeezing a dollop of Crest onto his toothbrush, Soul responded with a noncommittal grunt. "'Snot like I planned on having a guest over," he said before brushing his teeth. No truer words could have described the events of last night.

"And the Palmtop Tiger!" Blake ranted. In the bathroom mirror, Soul exchanged a weary look with his own reflection. If only his brushing was loud enough to dull Blake's voice. "Mad respect, man. Even a god like myself can't crack that tough nut. One time, Red Star hit on her and she pulled his pinky finger all the way back to his wrist. Writes funny cuz of it now." Soul spat and wiped his mouth. That sounded like something Maka would do. If she targeted his fingers instead of his head, his piano career would be over before it even started. Soul would rather be concussed than crippled.

"What was it even like?" Blake asked. "You have to fill me in on the details. Shit, I can't even imagine it. Well I can imagine her screaming like a hyena, but other than that..."

To avoid answering his nosy friend, Soul began the delicate process of putting in his contact lenses. With one damp lens balanced on his fingertip, he leaned towards the mirror. Details. What details could he even tell Blake? Though they never said it out loud, Soul assumed that the parts where Maka tackled him to the ground and threatened to give him a concussion were to be kept on the DL. He sure as hell couldn't reveal the fact that they had enormous crushes on their respective best friends; everyone knew Blake was tragically incapable of keeping secrets. Even so, the fact remained that Soul had no obligation to help Maka. There was no loyalty between them-was there?

Soul gingerly placed his second contact onto his eye and blinked rapidly. As his vision cleared, so did his mind. It didn't matter how well they did or didn't know each other. Betrayal of any kind was uncool, not gonna happen, end of story.

"Well," Soul finally said, leading his roommate out of their cramped bathroom and back into their living room. "Obviously she's kinda intense, but Maka's cool. We had fun."

Blake's hazel eyes searched Soul's face with growing suspicion, then disappointment, then anger. "I can't believe this," he said. "When Tsu and I fucked for the first time, I recapped it to you in such epic detail that everyone on this side of campus sprung a gargantuan boner. And you won't even do the same. You are dead to me. I excommunicate you."

Soul was overcome with a blush so fierce that his face felt like it would sizzle and melt right off his skull. Classic Blake, jumping to conclusions in the worst way. "Just wait a fucking minute," he sputtered. "We didn't-I never said-I didn't sleep with her. There's nothing to recap."

"Oh." Undeterred, Blake waggled his eyebrows. "But something happened."

"No, it didn't."

Now Blake looked like a disappointed parent. "Dude, did you even try?"

" _No!_  We're just friends! Not even, we hung out one time. Could you drop it already?" He stalked off into his room while Blake mumbled his apologies. There were some phrases Soul couldn't stand no matter who said them, and 'Did you even try?' was at the top of the list. It was wrong of him to be so angry, but sometimes it was easier for Soul to be the monster everyone thought he was than the easygoing, likable person he wanted to be.

Soul's first class wasn't until the blissful hour of 11 a.m., and thanks to Blake, he lost an entire hour of sleep. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with the extra time on his hands, and he pondered maybe cleaning his room or dicking around on the internet until his phone vibrated on his nightstand. The message he saw caused him to squint, just in case his contacts were deceiving him.

_Maka (8:50): Can we get coffee today sometime? I need to talk to you._

He found Maka alone at a booth in Deathbucks. The tall height of the cold, metal tables and the wide distance between the red leather seats made for an awkward fit, especially for someone as petite as Maka. Sitting in her oversized seat with her arms clasped on the table, she was downright tiny. It wasn't just her size that was startling. With a golden halo framing her sharp green eyes, Maka looked otherworldly, almost as if she was the afterimage of a dream. In front of her were two steaming coffee cups. Measuring a few inches under six feet, Soul was able to slide into the booth without looking like a Keebler elf.

"Morning," Maka said with cheer. He responded with a polite-ish grunt. "I hope you slept okay. I wanted to meet here so I could apologize, about everything. It was one hundred percent an overreaction, and I'm sorry."

She pushed one of the coffee cups towards him-a peace offering. Soul eyed it warily. "Is that decaf?"

"No."

"Apology accepted." Soul lifted the cup to his lips and drank up some bitter, caffeinated goodness. This was just what he needed after Blake's rude wake-up call.

Maka smiled at him a little too broadly for comfort. "Great! Let's start over. We should hang out again."

Soul raised his stark eyebrows. "Uh, okay."

"Tonight, your place. How does that sound? I'll be there at seven."

He could see where this was going, and he placed his coffee cup back on the table. "You can't bribe me with one cup of coffee to let you stalk my roommate."

This made Maka unexpectedly angry, and she nearly lunged at him when she rose from her seat and slapped her hands onto the table. Her face was scarlet. "I'm not a stalker! I just want to be friends!"

"And the fact that you have the mega hots for Kid has  _nothing_  to do with that."

She scowled at him and sank back into her seat. The gears in her mind were turning. "Fine," she said with narrowed eyes. "If the gift of my friendship and free beverages aren't enough for you, I have another proposal. We can…" Maka's eyes darted over his shoulder, scanning the room for any secret listeners. Her body language became more minute, discreet, as if the very words she was speaking were blasphemy. "...help each other. You help me with my, uh, problem, and I'll help you with yours."

Now that was an interesting proposal. Soul could hardly speak to Patty without clamming up because they rarely interacted outside of class. Maka was his way in. There was something vaguely conspiratorial about this whole deal, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued by it.

As usual, it was his last shreds of Evans pride that got in the way. "No."

"What?" Clearly, that wasn't what Maka was hoping to hear. Her sharp voice drew some attention around Deathbucks, and to avoid the strange looks, Maka ducked her head and spoke in a heated whisper. "I learned two things last night: One, you're all teeth with no bite. And two, we're both in the same hopeless, sexually frustrated boat. Face it, you're never gonna get a chance to scatter rose petals or light candles for Patty without a little help from me."

He grit his teeth and tried to ignore the heat spreading across his cheeks. If she thought throwing Baby-Making Tunes #6 in his face was going to sway him, she was sorely mistaken. "If that's all you took away from last night, then you can forget it," Soul said, crossing his arms. "Actually, I don't even need your help. I can ask someone out without her twerpy little friend giving me dumb relationship advice."

"YoucallmeatwerpagainandI'llkickthelivingshitoutofyoudoyouunderstand?" It was worth it to see Maka stew with restrained hatred, even if they did draw even more suspicious glares from surrounding Deathbucks patrons. Antagonizing the Palmtop Tiger was not the smartest thing he had ever done, but it was becoming a hilarious habit.

The two stared at each other with mirrored passion and frustration. There was nothing left to discuss or do except leave. They slid out of the booth at the same time, allowing Soul to finally get a good look at her. Beneath her girlish pigtails, Maka wore a lean cut leather jacket with an asymmetrical zipper that slightly curled around her torso. She was also wearing a red skirt, similar to the one from last night, with chunky combat boots.

Soul thrust his fists into the pockets of his own leather jacket. No wonder people were looking at them strangely-they looked like two members of the same biker gang, plotting away over identical cups of coffee.

"It's a good thing I left my skirt at home," Soul said. "Otherwise this would be awkward."

"Shut it," Maka said, her voice dripping with spite. "Let me know if you change your mind. I might consider re-extending my offer."

His face heated up with a mixture of embarrassment and anger, and he flashed her his most smug, infuriating smile. "Oh, I won't."

On his way back to his dorm, Soul's face settled into a grim scowl. Other students gave him a wide berth on the sidewalk, but he paid them no heed. He wasn't going to do Maka fucking Albarn any favors, not when she believed he was incapable of asking Patty on a date, something he had been day dreaming about for a whole year. He was twenty goddamn years old. He could do this. He was gonna waltz into Spanish class and ask her right then and there. If she said yes, he could rub it in Palmtop's face and prepare for what was assuredly the beginning of a very beautiful relationship-with Patty, not Maka. If she-Patty-said no, he would respect her decision and drink his disappointment away in private where she-Maka-could not gloat over his misery. Maybe when his heart had mended a little, Soul would see if either girl was interested in still being friends.

Spanish Cinema crept closer and closer. During his 11 a.m. piano practicum, Soul's fingers danced over the ivories of their own accord. The rumbling of his piano echoed his thoughts, which were consumed by the traces of a daydream mixed with the stampede of anxiety. What if Maka was right? What if he was an awkward, stuttery mess when he walked into class? Patty seemed to consider him a friendly acquaintance, but he didn't think she would find his nervousness charming or attractive. It burned him up to admit it, but maybe he was wrong to turn Maka down so fast.

After his piece was over, his professor cleared his throat. "Evans," he said. "That was well done, wonderful. Now do it again, but this time when you play, be a little less…" The professor waved his hand in the air, almost as if the perfect word was floating out of reach. " _...sinister."_

The piano keys thundered as he dropped his hands and rested his forehead on the instrument's shining wood.

After class, he ate lunch alone, hoping that some solitary face-stuffing would calm his nerves and dispel the queasiness gathering in his stomach. It was natural, normal, to feel nervous before you bared your soul to another person, no pun intended. A little fear and anxiety didn't mean he needed help. There was certainly no chance in hell that he was going to take Maka up on her offer.  _I'm a grown-ass man_ , he reminded himself. He had this.

Soul glanced at his phone while finishing off the last of his hamburger and noted that the closer it got to 2 p.m., the more time seemed to speed up. At this rate, he was going to be late for day one of Spanish.

His walk to the academic building was a blur, and once inside he dove into the men's room. He needed to wash his face, check his hair, steady his stupid shaking hands. Catching his reflection in the mirror accomplished the exact opposite. He rubbed the fringe of his white hair between his thumb and forefinger. The strands felt brittle and greasy, probably due to yesterday's slept-in hair gel. Sighing, he silently cursed all of the hair products that couldn't do their damn jobs and make him look human. The rest of him didn't fare much better. As if his eyes, the color of clotted blood, weren't bad enough, the smokey half-moons sagging underneath them added a latent serial killer charm that was sure to make Patty swoon, provided felons were her thing.

Yeah, right.

The one consolation he had was that this wasn't a cold approach. Patty and Soul knew each other. Just yesterday, she went out of her way to say hello. People didn't just do that, not to him. It might not have signaled romantic interest, but at least it meant that she liked him a little, that he was cool enough for her to go out of her way. That thought alone spurred him forward.

When Soul opened the classroom door, fifteen pairs of eyes immediately flicked towards him. He was one of the last students to arrive. After a hesitant pause in the door frame, Soul gathered his courage and surveyed the room. At this point, he had been in enough Spanish classes that he knew most his classmates. In the back corner was Kim Diehl, who had apparently dyed her hair pink over the summer, picking at her fingernails. Sitting closer to the front of the classroom was Harvar D'Eclair, who didn't seem to have changed at all since the spring, save for his thicker gauges.

And of course, Patty was sitting in the middle, doodling an animal print all over her notebook. She looked up at him and gave a slight smile and a little wave. There were no open seats near her. It took a miracle to keep his usual, impassive mask in place, but Soul managed to return the wave and hurry to an open seat towards the back, out of sight, where he could mentally rehearse what he was going to say to her.

Once he sat down, the professor cleared her throat. "We're going to start out with an icebreaker," the professor explained with zero enthusiasm. "Just tell the class your name, major, hometown, and a fun fact. Now who-"

Patty stood up immediately. "My name is Patty, I'm a linguistics major, I'm from New York City, and I never say no to a high five!"

"Hell yeah," Harvar said with a raised hand. Patty whipped her hand backward and smacked his palm. As she sat down, Soul saw Harvar rub his stinging hand and stifle a whimper.

Students stood up one by one of their own accord, summarizing their existences into a few meager facts.

"The name is Harvar, and I'm an environmental engineer. I'm from San Fran, and this summer I went hiking in Nepal and chilled with sherpas."

"Hi, I'm Kim Diehl. I'm a premed student, and I'm from Atlanta. My fun fact is that I sometimes lick my elbow for money. Tweet me for deets."

"My name is Soul. I'm majoring in music composition with a concentration in jazz studies. I'm from Long Island. My brother is famous."

The class started to watch the first movie on their syllabus immediately after the introductions. Whatever confidence he had cobbled together was dulled by rapidly speaking Spanish actors and the lingering hollowness that settled in Soul's ribcage every time he mentioned his brother. There was a time and place for everything, and maybe the first Spanish class of the year was not the most strategic opportunity to ask someone out. There was a lot going on, and now that he was here, it seemed a little inconsiderate to put Patty on the spot so soon in the semester. Better to put it off, rally the troops, perform some reconnaissance.

Though it was totally his own, independent, and not-at-all-influenced-by-Maka decision to forget about asking Patty out, Soul couldn't help but feel a little deflated as he left class. Any hope he had of casually walking or chatting with Patty were dashed when she skipped on ahead, barreling through the hallway, disregarding the oofs and watch its! of her peers as she went. Soul, having no classes or commitments to rush to, stood at the classroom threshold so he could wistfully watch her go. He should have asked her for a high-five. It would have hurt, and their hands would have touched for only a split-second, but his sappy heart craved affectionate, friendly contact no matter how brief or painful it was.

He was rubbing his fringe again and staring at the sidewalk when he saw-no, heard-Maka Albarn from across the quad. She was standing in the grass with her hands on her hips, arguing with a tall, dirty blonde girl that Soul didn't recognize. Maka's indignant voice really carried, which was impressive considering the quad's terrible acoustics.

As Soul began to turn around and head home, Patty bounded into the picture. She was laughing, smiling, beaming. Her hair was the color of fresh spun gold. Not for the first time, Soul was struck by how pretty she was and how happy she looked. Something in his chest tugged in her direction, and he felt warmth rush from his stomach to his fingertips.

He could make her happy, if he tried, if she'd let him. Soul would do whatever, go wherever she wanted, it wouldn't be a big deal. Not if they were together, and that's all Soul really wanted from a girlfriend-someone who would spend time with him, have fun with him, and maybe, eventually, love him. The problem was that as much as he would like to believe otherwise, he was pretty sure she wouldn't want to do anything even remotely date-like with him, not yet. All he could do was stand back and watch her happy, smiling face from afar, waiting in the wings until she invited him to join her at center stage.

If Maka was truly in the same boat as him like she said she was, then she could relate to his desire for intimacy more closely than anyone. And that was something he needed, Evans pride be damned.

He took out his phone, scrolled down to her contact, and tapped out a quick message. After sending the text, Soul turned around and walked the other way. He could already imagine the quizzical look on her face when she read it.

Despite texting her immediately after Spanish class, Soul was not able to rendezvous with Maka until after 9 p.m. They exchanged a chain of irritated text messages as Maka insisted they meet in his apartment and Soul soundly refused. "If you're going to come over again, you better earn it," he had said to her. She went on radio silence for a full two hours, during which Soul kept one eye on his phone at all times. If this was her idea of a punishment, then, well…. She was very good at thinking of annoying punishments.

She reopened communications after he had already eaten dinner.

_Maka (8:00): Let's get a drink at the Tombs. We have to discuss._

_Soul (8:00): wow so forward._

_Soul (8:15): yo i was just joking_

_Soul (8:23): yo_

_Soul (8:30): hey_

_Soul (8:49): i'm sorry alright_

_Maka (8:50): Meet at 9._

About a quarter of the DCU student body considered Thursday to be a part of the weekend. Maka Albarn was clearly not one of those people. The bar had a decent amount of patrons, and Maka looked too grumpy to handle any of them. She huddled inside an oversized sweater despite the heat outside. Truth be told, it was cute.

"Hey, again," Soul said. "You cold?"

"It smells like cigarette water in here," Maka said without humor. "I don't want my nicer clothes to stink." To his slight disappointment, Soul noticed that Maka did not buy him a free drink this time. He must have used up all her good will when he shot her down and called her a twerp. Hoping to inspire at least some camaraderie, he went to the bar and bought them both beers. Soul didn't have a fake ID, but he found that when he looked grumpy enough, the bartender simply didn't ask questions.

When he returned, Maka eyed the two sloshing glasses with suspicion. She took hers all the same. "Let's get to business," she said bluntly. "I'm guessing you changed your mind?" Soul nodded silently. "Figured. Patty is a difficult person to pin down even for a study session. Getting her attention long enough to take her on a date can be even worse, especially if you don't know what you're doing."

"And you're going to tell me what to do?" Soul asked dully.

"No, I'm going to help you get to know her better." Maka extracted a notebook and pen from underneath her sweater. He really needed to ask her how she managed to carry so many school supplies and books on her person. "I figure," Maka continued, opening the notebook to a fresh sheet, "that if you tell me all about Kid, and I tell you all about Patty, we can write that stuff down and use it to become their friends."

Soul snorted. "I don't see how a grocery list is gonna help us get laid any faster."

In the exact same way she rose during their morning coffee meetup, Maka aggressively leaned over the table. "That's not what this is about!" She wrung her notebook in her hands, creasing the pages. "This is about making connections with our very _souls!_  This is about forgetting all the crap people say about us and showing everyone that we don't  _hate_  men, we just don't have any tolerance for their bullshit!"

"...right."

"It's like-," Maka said, settling back down in her seat. "-a study guide. But for people. Wooing Kid is like a test, and you're the only person who can help me study. And I'll help you!" Her vibrant green gaze grew intense. "And then, we'll both get A's."

This was the most bizarre, cringe-worthy analogy Soul had ever heard. If she was really going to help him get closer to Patty, though, whatever floated Maka's weird English-major boat was fine with him. Though, to follow Maka's metaphor, he'd probably want a cheat sheet more than a study guide.

They sipped their beers for a while, content to ruminate on this strange arrangement of theirs in silence. Maka didn't have it as bad as he did, Soul decided. From what he could tell, she had loads of friends, she was really assertive and brave, and more importantly, she was just plain talented. Palmtop Tiger was fierce, but it was her intelligence and sharp, merciless snark that hamstrung unsuspecting men. She was a force to be reckoned with, a typhoon gaining momentum, and Soul was just a harmless cloud purring in the distance. He wasn't very good at making his own friends, so how he was going to help Maka befriend someone was beyond him.

"I don't see why you want my help," Soul blurted. Now that it was apparently his mission to collect some insight on one of his closest friends, it was becoming more and more obvious that Soul was utterly unqualified to talk about Kid at all, let alone become Maka's 'study buddy.' "To be honest, I don't even get why you would want to help me either. Why do you care about what happens to me?"

Maka's face softened with the elegant tragedy of a flower wilting at dusk. "Because, I get it. I'm not beautiful either." She took a sip of beer and paused. "This might not fix all of our problems, but at least if we try hard enough, we won't have to die virgins. That's a good enough reason for me."

Soul furrowed his eyebrows, instantly confused and concerned. "Who the hell gave you that idea?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well based on the goddamn shrine in your room, it isn't exactly a huge leap to assume-"

"No, not that," Soul said seriously. "I meant about you not being beautiful. Who's been telling you that?"

Her cheeks became rosy and warm. It wasn't the first time Soul had seen Maka flustered, but this was different. Her eyes, usually staring at him with practiced defiance or narrowed to suspicious slits, had grown wide with astonishment. The disbelief spreading across her features made Soul's chest ache.

"No one needs to tell me!" Maka finally said, indignant. "I can figure it out for myself!"

She rose from her seat and slung her handbag over her shoulder. "Hey!" Soul said. "That wasn't what I meant-"

"I'll text you tomorrow," Maka said. Her tone had once again become business-like and terse. "We'll figure out how we want to do this." Soul nodded silently, figuring that anything he said may dig his grave even deeper.

They parted without another word, and though they left on poor terms, Soul couldn't repress the buoyant, hopeful energy in his step.


	4. Turbulence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul and Maka's scheme to hook each other up with their best friends stalls. Meanwhile, Patty begins to show an interest in her Spanish buddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks ProMa for reading this over!

Soul had always believed that severability was a given, even when he was a kid. His childhood home was essentially an artist’s colony. Each of his family members was constantly wrapped up in their own projects, immersed in their own worlds, honing their talents with a focus only sweet solitude could deliver. They crossed paths at meals, in the bathroom, and during social events, but even then the Evans clan was aloof at best. The family didn’t used to be so fixated on their inward, artistic lives, but any traces of family unity started to taper off when Soul was still very young and vanished completely after Wes left home.

People weren’t built to stay together. They were just atoms bouncing off one another, briefly entering each other’s orbits before ricocheting down their own paths.

It was the magnetic anomaly that was Maka Albarn that completely turned Soul’s belief on its head.

After never crossing paths their entire freshman year, Soul now ran into Maka everywhere he went.

He collided with her after rounding a tight corridor in the language building (“Oof!” “Where the hell do you thi--Oh, hey!”).

Their eyes met in passing outside the library (“Sorry, I was just going this way.” “I’m going that way. Um, so...bye?” “Yeah, see ya.”).

She stepped on his foot by accident in the pasta line inside the dining hall (“Calm your stompy pigeon-toed feet.” “Don’t you dare tell me to calm my anything!”).

Soul had to wonder if Maka was planning these chance encounters, but judging by her look of genuine surprise every time they bumped into each other, she was just as bewildered by this pattern as he was. Stranger yet, when they did meet up accidentally and decided to talk or walk together for a few moments, the cadence of their footsteps and voices fell into a natural rhythm, as if the cogs of two stalling gears finally connected and began to thrum happily once more.

Their budding friendship was random and sometimes infuriating, but most of all it was _easy_. Once she wasn’t trying to concuss him and he wasn’t trying to spite her, Soul and Maka got along exceedingly well. Forging a shared routine was instinctive, smooth. It was soon second nature to shoot Maka a text when he wanted to get food and trudge straight across the muddy quad when he saw her walking alone. She quickly became just as secure a fixture in his life as music classes, greasy dorm food, and odd looks from strangers.

The only wrinkle in their partnership was the arrangement that started it all. In fact, they got on best when neither Kid nor Patty entered into the equation. If Kid streaked across campus on his skateboard and Maka’s eyes followed his receding form with acute interest, Soul made sure to make a snarky comment or even attract Kid’s attention. It was funny to see her get flustered in Kid’s presence, but it was even funnier to watch Maka attempt to contain her frustration and anger. Apparently, part of her grand plan to get into Kid’s pants was to attract him with her sweet personality. What a joke.

In his defense, Maka pulled the same shit on him. When she caught his eye straying towards the softball field while Patty was at practice in mid-September, Maka yanked hard on his right ear to pull him down to her height level.

“Stop looking at my best friend like you want to peel off her pretty skin and wear it as a coat,” she hissed.

Maka released his ear with a loud _harumph!_ and stalked away. His dopey smile gone and his face drained of color, Soul tailed after her. “I _don’t_ look like that! And who are you to talk, you puny little hypocrite!”

Needless to say, their collaborative operation to romance each other’s best friends had stalled.

They had met up after Soul’s piano practicum and Maka’s creative writing class to walk to the dining hall. While she had taken their walk as an opportunity to give him a passionate lecture about something relatively unimportant, Soul endured. Today, despite all the setbacks and bickering and longing looks, they were finally going to make the Trade.

“All I’m saying is that if you have to unhinge your jaw like a snake, you’re literally biting off more than you can chew,” Maka said. “I’m not asking you to nibble your food. Just smaller bites.”

“OH LOYAL FOLLOWERS!”

That loud, oh so familiar voice caused passing students in earshot to flinch and search the quad in confusion. Maka simply groaned as they turned around to face a rapidly approaching Blake.

Sometimes Soul was convinced that Blake was two people trapped in one person’s body. He had the memory of a goldfish and the mouth of a howler monkey, and when he saw Soul and Maka walking together on the other side of the quad, he screamed once more at the top of his lungs. “YOUR GOD DEMANDS AN AUDIENCE!”

As Blake cut across the quad, he was closely followed by a tall brunet Soul immediately recognized to be Red Star, one of Blake’s fraternity brothers. The two were wearing salmon shorts, boat shoes, and brotanks that said “Sun’s Out, Guns Out” and “No Sleeves, No Problems” respectively, and were it not for Blake’s stocky build and bright blue hair, they would have been impossible to tell apart. Soul sighed when he noted the excitable way Blake was pumping his arms and grinning.

“Soul, my man!” Blake said to Soul. Casting a wary eye towards Maka, he added, “You two hanging out? Again?”

“We’re just grabbing food,” Soul said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. His eyes flicked towards Red Star, whose face carried a thirsty, callous expression that set him on edge.

Blake opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by his frat bro. “Hey! Remember me?” Red Star said to Maka. She blinked at him. “Or maybe this?” Laughing nervously, he held out his left hand. If Soul squinted, one of his fingers looked a little swollen and had a slight purple hue.

This man had clearly had a prior run-in with the Palmtop Tiger and wanted some form of apology or retribution, but he was to be sorely disappointed. Maka’s response was icy and sharp, “No.”

“Anywayyy,” Blake segued, “Us guys should meet up for dinner sometime. I’d tag along for lunch, but the rest of our day is blocked off for massage class and working out.”

After adopting a look of pure incredulity, Maka guffawed. “A _massage_ course? They offer that here?”

“It’s part of the sports science program,” Blake explained. “Don’t look at me like that--this is rigorous stuff. Bet you can’t name all the bones in your arm, or the ligaments in your knee.”

Maka scowled at Blake, but her attention was stolen by Red Star. “Plus we get to practice on actual people,” he said with a suggestive smirk. “These hands are going to be college educated in the art of soothing frigid women.”

She snorted. “So basically you’re taking a massage class just so you can feel up women?”

Red Star, looking aghast, said, “Maybe I really do want to be a massaginist.”

“Maybe you already are one,” Maka said with a cool shrug.

Blake darted between the two and clapped Red Star on the back. “Oh-ho-ho-kay! We gotta bounce. See you guys around.”

Blake dragged Red Star back from where they came with much less energy than when he arrived. “The burn was impressive,” Soul finally said as they resumed their walk to lunch. “I’m surprised.”

“Please, give me _some_ credit,” Maka said. She gave him the smirk of a very full and self-satisfied housecat. “I actually thought it was too subtle for you.”

“Maka, give _me_ some credit.”

The highly anticipated and much delayed Trade commenced after Maka had finished her sandwich and withdrew a large, immaculate packet from her backpack. In that packet were all of Maka’s insights surrounding Patty, which were apparently both numerous and elaborately detailed; ‘Overachiever’ was definitely an understatement when it came to her. Eager, Soul began to peruse its pages.

At first, the packet read like an online dating profile. It contained stupid stuff, like Patty’s astrological sign and birthstone, as well as some irrelevant information, like her allergy to wasps. While it was good to know that he should give her a birthday present made of turquoise instead of wasps, it didn’t grant him any special insights into Patty as a person. The next page contained a list of television series organized by five star ratings. Intriguingly, many of them contained reviews written in a familiar perky, if not threatening voice. He looked at Maka, and she began to answer his unspoken question immediately.

“My dad pays for my Netflix and Spotify, and I passed along the passwords to Patty,” Maka explained. “Those are the TV shows she is currently watching, and those are the movies she has top rated and reviewed. Her favorite music is--oh, there you are.”

He was already flipping through the packet for Patty’s playlist of favorite songs. The stuff about her birthstone was nice, but _this_ was exactly what he needed to know. Unable to contain himself, Soul’s red eyes eagerly swept through the playlist.

Considering that millions of songs were currently floating around in the digital ether, it shouldn’t have surprised him to find almost no familiar tracks or artists on that list. The realization also shouldn’t have sliced through him with the stinging quickness of a knife. Music was a vast industry. Everyone was into different genres. Musical taste wasn’t indicative how well people got along.

It was better, Soul decided, for their tastes to diverge at first. It gave them something to talk about and explore together. Hell, he had already devoted many lunches to explaining the finer points of jazz to Maka, and even if she was as musical as a bale of hay, their talks were still really fun. Without its initial promise, the Patty Packet hung limp in his hands.

“Well?” Maka asked, impatient. “I showed you mine.”

Sighing, Soul lifted his backpack off the ground and placed it on his lap so he could sift through its contents. Truthfully, he had thought Maka wanted to trade cheat sheets weeks ago. His list of facts about Kid had thus been squashed to the very bottom of his bag by his various binders, books, and sheet music. Once he found the crumpled paper, he took care to smooth it out on the table. Maka looked remarkably unimpressed.

“Here ya go, as promised,” Soul said, pushing the leaf of paper towards her.

She wrinkled her nose as she inspected it. “You only wrote four things on this.” Maka looked up at him, obviously displeased. “This is absolutely useless. Thanks.”

“Sometimes having good information is better than having a lot of it,” Soul retorted.

“But some of this is complete nonsense,” Maka said, examining the paper even closer. “‘Minimalist Halloweentown?’ What the _fuck_?”

“It’s his _aesthetic!”_ Soul exclaimed. When Maka gave him a blank stare, Soul rolled his eyes and launched into the best explanation he could muster. “If you boiled Kid down to one thing, like simplified his taste in clothes, movies, music, books, _everything_ into one phrase, _that_ would be it. That phrase is literally all you need to know what he is about. Everything else is set dressing.”

Maka looked extremely skeptical. “Okay but....minimalist Halloweentown?”

Soul shot her a pointed look and crossed his arms. “This just goes to show how _little_ you actually know Kid.”

Growling, Maka reached over the table and snatched back the packet of papers she had given Soul and stuffed them unceremoniously into her backpack. She was taking special care to make sure they became bent and rumpled this time. “Hey!” Soul protested.

“I’m not a pancake, Soul. I don’t flip.” Maka muttered as she shoved the papers deeper into her bag. “You can have this back when you stop being an unhelpful, stubborn ass.”

They threw away their trash and placed their dirty plates onto the conveyer belt that led into the kitchen. The next class period was starting soon, and both of them had places to be. “It’s true, though,” Soul said as they walked across the quad. “You don’t know anything about Kid other than the fact that he’s smart, rich, and has a nice butt.”

“You can learn a lot about someone based on their butt,” Maka replied. “For example, you talk out of yours all the time. Ever wonder what that tells me?”

He chose to ignore that comment. “It’s sometimes like you are talking about a completely different person,” Soul continued. “There’s no way the guy you talk about and the guy I actually live with are the same.”

They finally came upon a fork in the path. Soul would soon take off on the left towards the music building, and Maka would continue down the right towards the library. Before they parted ways, Maka turned to her friend. “Maybe you’re right and I don’t know him well enough yet,” Maka mused. “But remember, you’re in the exact same situation as I am. Patty isn’t the manic pixie dream girl you think she is, and it’s gonna be a nasty surprise when you find that out for yourself.”

He left Maka feeling haughty and stubborn. The last thing Soul needed or wanted was a lecture from Maka “Stalk First, Flirt Later” Albarn.

* * *

 

Two evenings later, Soul did end up meeting Blake and Red Star for dinner. It was not the brofest it was promised to be. Blake was, as always, incredibly jovial and social, but Red Star simply scowled at Soul and asked a few questions about Maka. Soul’s saving grace was that as a pack of twenty year-old guys, they all ate a ton and could cushion moments of awkward silence with gratuitous chewing. He parted ways with Blake and Red Star immediately afterwards, swearing to himself never to repeat that experience again.

When he finally returned to his apartment that night, Soul did not make it to his bedroom. He shrugged off his backpack, groaned as the weight eased off his aching shoulders, and flopped onto the couch.

The sound of Kid kicking his door open made Soul start. He woozily lifted his head, and Soul saw his roommate stride through the room with purpose and fervor. If Soul didn’t know better, he would have thought Kid’s arms were quivering. “Where are you going?” Soul asked.

Before dashing out the door, Kid briefly spun around to say, “To find answers!” After closing the front door with another abrupt bang, Soul heard Kid’s excited footfalls pitter patter down the hall.

Weird. It wasn’t the first time Kid had done something like that, but there was a strange urgency about his exit that felt odd, suspicious even. In his haste, Kid had left the door to his bedroom wide open. The bright fluorescent light from within spilled into the common room, and temptation began to pull Soul forward.

He was supposed to get the inside scoop on Kid. While Soul was already pretty confident that he had accomplished that with his four-bullet list, Maka demanded more in exchange for her own wealth of information. And more she would receive. Once he was certain Kid wasn’t going to burst right back into the dorm, Soul rose from the couch and entered Kid’s sanctuary.

Maka may not have believed him, but ‘minimalist Halloweentown’ summed up Dean Theodore Kidman perfectly. His room was a collision between the pristine and the macabre, the quirky and the organized. Now that Kid did not have to share a space with a messy roommate like Soul, he had taken ample artistic liberties with the standard dorm decor. He had substituted the default wooden bed frame with a sleek, industrial metal one. The pitch black sheets on his neatly made bed looked so crisp and soft that Soul feared they would crumple like a butterfly’s wing at the slightest touch.

Figuring that if he looked at the bed any long Kid would know he had been in there, Soul moved on. The rest of room followed a similar theme. Aside from the splashes of color on his textbooks, every instance of color was dark, drab, and muted. His belongings were all straight lines, sharp corners, and perfect circles. Human skulls, a common motif among Kid’s things, were cartoonish and simplified in design. Soul’s attention turned to the junk on the desk, where his roommate’s many pens and notebooks were neatly arranged in stacks and lines.

He took a panorama of the room and sent it to Maka.

_Soul (8:13): when u and kid are finally married and living together and stuff, i hope ur prepared to let him do all the interior decorating_

On the desk, one text book lay open almost exactly down the middle. A blue highlighter sat in the curve of the spine, and though Soul had only planned to take a cursory look at Kid’s room to find a lead for Maka, he peered at its open pages.

BEYOND THE BINARY

CHAPTER FIVE: THE INVISIBLE SEXUALITY

Soul squinted at the book, immensely puzzled. What class was this for? Outside Spanish and a couple of gen eds he couldn’t get out of, Soul’s course load was focused solely on music. Spanish Cinema had a sexuality unit of sorts, but judging by the amount of onscreen nudity he had already seen in that class, none of that sex was going to be invisible. Quite the opposite. His eyes drifted toward the text.

“An asexual is someone who does not experience sexual attraction. Unlike celibacy, which people choose, asexuality is an intrinsic part of who someone is. There is considerable diversity among the asexual community; each asexual person experiences--”

He stopped reading as he became fixated upon the phrase ‘an intrinsic part of who someone is,’ which was not only highlighted in blue ink, but was also underlined and punctuated with a neat row of uniform exclamation points scribbled in the margin. Soul ran his finger over the notation. No, scribbled was the wrong word. That implied something messy, rushed, or spontaneous. This note was written so deliberately that each exclamation point dug deeper into the page. He could feel the indentations like braille beneath his fingertips, but he could not read what they meant.

Unable to decode the clues on the desk, Soul turned to Kid’s bookcase. This was information Maka would want. He snapped a picture of their titles and left the room in a hurry; staying longer would have felt like a true violation.

Sending the picture of Kid’s room was harmless enough, but sending a record of Kid’s books to Maka seemed like a step too far. Soul ended up inviting her over so he could show it to her and delete it right after. He felt dirty for snooping, even if it he had only stood in Kid’s room for a few short moments.

They chilled on the couch in the suite common room, where Maka extracted Soul’s phone from his pocket (“Personal boundaries, woman!”) and flipped through the pictures from his five minute reconnaissance mission.

“‘The Portrait of Dorian Gray?’ I love Oscar Wilde!” Maka said. “This one’s pretty short, so I can probably reread it so Kid and I can discuss its murkier themes. Wilde was very interested in the messiness and corruption of human desire and sexuality.”

Hoping to be helpful, Soul added, “Kid likes to read about sexuality stuff.”

“That’s something I already knew,” Maka said with a satisfied smile. “From class, I know that he is interested in feminism, so it only makes sense that gender and sexuality studies might interest him, too. Let me see what other books there are…” Maka was less pleased to see the amount of Dostoevsky on Kid’s bookshelf, but in the name of getting to know Kid’s tastes a little better, she grudgingly declared that she would check those books out from the library.

She wasn’t the only one with books on her mind. When Kid returned, he had a small stack of hardcover texts balanced on his arms. “Oh, it’s you two,” Kid said. “Studying together, again?”

“You should join us!” Maka blurted. She still hadn’t quite mastered the art of keeping cool in Kid’s presence. “I mean, if you want to. I can move my stuff to make room--"

“I think it would be best if I studied in private today.” Kid looked back and forth at his friends and smiled thinly. “Maybe another time.”

Kid stepped over Soul and Maka’s backpacks and binders, which were scattered across the floor, and retreated into the inner sanctum of his room. After closing the door, Soul heard Kid lock it behind him.

Maka quietly heaved her British Literature anthology onto her lap and began read silently. She made a great show of writing notes in the margins and thoughtfully clicking her pen, but her act didn’t fool him. It was the little things that gave her away; the pursed lips, the fidgeting hands, the wistful glances towards Kid’s door. Soul never asked to be remarkably in tune with her feelings, and he didn’t think too hard on why or how that came to be, but he couldn’t just sit there while she retreated within herself.

“At least he said hi,” Soul offered.

“Yeah,” she responded with a clipped tone.

“He said he’d study with you another time.”

“I know.”

  
At this point, her morose mood inspired more annoyance than pity. “Well you don’t need to be so pouty about it,” Soul said testily.

Maka audibly scoffed. “Oh, come on! You sulked for _hours_ after Patty didn’t deliver you that pizza!”

Soul flinched; the wound carved by the pizza incident still stung. “I tipped a total stranger ten dollars, of course I sulked.”

“That’s why I told you to pay her with cash at the door instead of online!”

“My pockets aren’t exactly overflowing with cashmoney.”

“That’s rich coming from Mr. Trust Fund Baby!” Maka’s insult du jour was to remind Soul that underneath his ratty clothes and grim personality, he was a cashmere sweater-wearing prep school graduate. This was a fact she learned after they cemented their friendship on Facebook, a decision Soul quickly began to resent.

“That’s my parents’ money,” he reminded her. “It’s not like I can dip into my trust fund account for fucking pizza.” She huffed and returned to her book, and guilt clawed at him. It was impossible for him to just leave things alone, not when it came to her. “I’m sorry it isn’t going well,” Soul finally said. “I really thought he’d be more social now that you’re here all the time. It’s not really like him to be aloof.”

She hugged her legs to her chest. “Maybe it’s me,” Maka wondered aloud with a frown.

“Hey.” Soul lightly touched her shoulder, and she gave him a skeptical arched eyebrow. “I suffer from resting serial killer face and Kid went out of his way to be my friend. Hell, he even shared a room with my disorganized ass for a whole year, and he still thinks I’m okay. Don’t take his weirdo habits personally. If he doesn’t want to hang today, we’ll just have to try again tomorrow.”

She had been staring ahead with a deep frown on her face, but his encouragement made her eyes soften and a small, pretty smile to play upon her lips. She turned to face him, and his entire body bloomed with warmth. It was at times like this, when her hair framed her face just so and her eyes looked twice as bright as any green he had ever seen, that Soul’s heart did a weird flip flop in his ribcage, and the constant anxieties stirring at the back of his mind stilled.  

The moment was promptly ruined when the front door was kicked open by the one and only Blake Barrett. He was hunched over, and balanced upon his back was Tsubaki Nakatsukasa, his girlfriend. Blake had hooked his arms around Tsubaki’s pale legs, which were so long that they almost touched the ground, and she supported herself by squeezing his waist with her thighs and throwing her arms around his neck. Tsubaki’s long, smooth hair trickled down her and Blake’s left shoulders in a ponytail. As they entered the room, Soul realized that Tsubaki was wearing both her and Blake’s backpacks.

“Move nothing!” Blake shouted. “Obstacles, stay where you are! Genuflect if you must.”

“You can put me down if you want,” Tsubaki whispered into Blake’s left ear with a gentle laugh.

Blake scoffed. “I said I was carrying you all the way to my room, so that’s what I’m gonna do.” Blake began to take large, ungainly steps through the common room, causing his girlfriend to lurch from side to side. The couple had to maneuver over Soul’s legs, which were resting on the coffee table, and avoid slipping on one of Maka’s books, which were strewn about the floor. One of Tsubaki’s dangling legs bumped into the coffee table, and Blake stomped right on Maka’s backpack, perhaps intentionally to avenge his disgraced fraternity brother. Maka responded with a low growling noise, but otherwise said nothing.

“Hi Tsu,” Soul said as the couple squeezed by. “Bye Tsu.”

Though they had just traversed the living room and were nearly to Blake’s bedroom door, Tsu looked over her shoulder. “Wait, Black Star!” she said. Unlike his roommates, Tsubaki had taken more to his fraternity nickname. “I want to say hello!”

Without loosening his grip on Tsubaki, Blake turned on his heel with surprising speed. One of Tsu’s feet kicked over a lampshade, and the two lumbered back to Soul and Maka. Since they were sitting on the couch, Blake pitched his body forward so Tsubaki could speak with them face to face.

“Hey Soul!” Tsu said cheerfully. “You look busy. I thought studying was beneath you.”

“Turns out I can’t coast through my entire college career,” Soul said with exaggerated nonchalance. “It was worth trying though."

Tsubaki’s large blue eyes quickly moved on to Maka. The two introduced themselves and shook hands over Blake’s shoulder. By the way Tsubaki’s thin eyebrows shot up when she heard Maka’s name, Maka’s reputation clearly preceded her. “I’ve seen you around,” Tsu said to Maka with a contemplative expression. “I know! DUJA, right?”

She was referring to the Death University Japanese Association. “I only went to the first meeting,” Maka admitted.

“Well you should come to our next one! I’m on the board, and I’m putting together a potluck!”

“Maybe…”

“Do you speak any Japanese?” Maka responded in Japanese, prompting the two girls to talk amongst themselves in another language for several minutes. Soul’s sexuality had been defined by foreign languages for a long time now, so he looked back and forth between the two girls, fascinated. Meanwhile, Blake’s face darkened as blood rushed to his bowed head. The ease with which he supported Tsubaki and their schoolbags on his back did not waver.    

“Psst!” Soul reluctantly gave Blake his attention. “Listen,” Blake whispered, unnoticed by the girls. “Are you and her, uh…” Deprived of his hands, Blake made lewd motions with his tongue with a dreamy look on his face. Soul winced.

Tsubaki and Maka wrapped up their conversation, and Blake once again carried Tsubaki away. He set her down at the threshold of his bedroom, allowing her to finally stand to her full height. Tsubaki had always been a willowy vision of grace, especially next to stocky Blake, but it was through their differences that they complemented each other. Before Blake kicked the door shut, Soul saw his friend shoot a rare, tender look at Tsu, who responded in kind.

It was an intimate moment spied for a brief second by two people who desperately wished to attain the same thing. Envy made his heart feel heavy. Perhaps if genetics were on his side, Soul would have already found a person to complement his flaws and differences. Maybe if his childhood wasn’t so starved of closeness, he would have compensated for his strange looks long ago.  

He noticed that Maka was also staring at Blake’s bedroom door, glassy-eyed and wistful. “I didn’t know you spoke Japanese,” Soul said to her. “What did you two talk about?”

The spell was broken, and Maka blinked quickly before answering. “She just asked if I was your girlfriend. But don’t worry, I shut that down pretty fast.”

“Huh.”

“They’re cute together,” Maka stated. “Hey, you still want the big cheat sheet I made for you?”

* * *

 

Acquisition of the Patty Packet coincided with a shift in Soul and Patty’s acquaintanceship. She shortly thereafter began to sit next to him in class, ask him his opinion about the cinematography of the film they were watching, and lean over his desk so she could say something to Kim or Harvar. Soul might have wondered if he somehow flipped a switch that now labeled him as Not As Big a Freak As He Looks, but who was he to question this amazing turn of events? Better to enjoy the attention while it lasted.

She started to ask him more probing questions. “So what kind of drugs are you into?” Patty asked him in her perky, lilting voice.

The question had come from nowhere, and Soul’s answer was so automatic it almost sounded rehearsed. “My eyes are always like this,” Soul answered, extracting his wallet from his pocket. “It’s even on my driver’s license, look--”

“But do you go to the gym?” Patty asked, ignoring him. “And what’s your estimated post-grad salary? Ballpark it for me.”

“I’m no Blake Barrett but I exercise,” he said. “And, uh, shit Patty, I don’t know--”

“Favorite movie?”

This time his answer really was rehearsed. “The Lion King,” Soul said, gauging her reaction. If Maka’s data was accurate, this would win him some approval.

She looked at him appraisingly. “Classic choice.”

“What’s with the interrogation anyway?”

Patty smiled at him sweetly. “I’m just trying to figure you out. Got class after this? We need to chat.” 

He responded that Spanish Cinema was his last class of the day and quickly agreed to ‘meet up,’ whatever that would entail. Their professor popped _Amorres Perros_ into the DVD player, and the class continued its viewing of the film. Having already googled the film’s plot summary, Soul took out his phone to discretely text Maka for input.

_Soul (2:15): so patty wants to talk to me urgently_

_Soul (2:16): u know why?_

_Maka: (2:19): Actually she’s mentioned you a lot lately._

_Maka (2:20): She said you’re good at rolling your r’s!_

_Maka (2:20): Not sure if it’s relevant?_

_Maka (2:20): Unless it’s a sex thing?_

_Soul (2:21): that sounds pretty motherfucking relevant_

_Maka (2:26): I’m meeting up with her later today. Let me know how it goes on your end._

_Maka (2:26): Good luck!_

_Soul (2:27): :)_

After class, Soul waited patiently for Patty to rise from her seat and meet his eyes. She jerked her chin towards the hallway--an invitation to follow. She lead him outside and towards the side of the building, where a forgotten bike rack and a picnic table collecting autumn leaves, utterly abandoned. It wasn’t completely private, but it was separate from the usual traffic of students or teachers. They were, for all intents and purposes, alone.

Rather than sitting at the picnic table, Patty put her hands on her hips and addressed him with her head held high. “Soul Evans, I have been watching you,” she said. “And I’ve been meaning to talk about this for a while.”

Aloof was usually Soul’s default mode of interaction, yet somehow it was difficult to keep his face passive and his voice steady when he was sweating bullets. “Why’s that? What are we talking about?” he asked.

She narrowed those enormous, heart-melting baby blues and gave him a slight, close-lipped smile. “Oh, you know.”  

Soul swallowed, and his adam’s apple bobbed painfully. He thought he had been playing with his cards pretty close to his chest, keeping their interactions friendly without crossing the line into creepy territory, yet apparently she had still seen right through him. It was a little disappointing to be so easily found out, but this was what he wanted, someone to see beyond his abnormal coloring, beyond the mask. The way she kept throwing him that bewitching smile, it seemed like everything he had been low-key pining for was about to come together.

As his mind raced to increasingly shameless places, Maka rounded the corner with her usual brisk pace, and she came to an abrupt standstill when she noticed Soul and Patty standing there. “Sorry! I didn’t know you were still--I’ll leave you two alone!” Maka said, wide-eyed. Before she could dart away, her arm was caught by a wildly grinning Patty.

“Oh no you won’t missy!” Patty said with a grin. She cinched Maka to her right side, and with her other arm Patty reeled in Soul so she could pull them both into a tight hug. “I’m just so happy for you guys!”

“I wasn’t sure about it at first, but I’ve decided to give him the Patty stamp of approval,” Patty said to Maka. She proceeded to bop Soul on the forehead with a mock stamp. “There. Now you don’t have to be all hush-hush about it. Liz said she approves too, but I think that’s just cuz Soul’s bro won a Grammy or something.”

“Approves of what?” Maka asked.

“Your new boyfriend, dummy,” Patty said, gesturing to Soul. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking off to be with him everyday?”

Soul gaped at her, thunderstruck and horrified. In all the scenarios he envisioned for this meeting, Soul had not anticipated this twist. All those little smiles and innocent questions weren’t for him at all. They were for...for…

He looked now to Maka, who had covered her mouth to conceal the beet red color of her face.

“Soul, I really did need to talk to you because Maka is very special to me,” Patty said with utter seriousness. Something in her voice became twisted and lethal. “Don’t be a fuckboy. If you make her cry or mess her around, I’m going to be the one to make you pay for it, _hombre.”_

This wasn’t happening to him. Soul must have fallen asleep during _Amores Perros,_ only to become enveloped in an absurd nightmare designed to epitomize the English translation of the film’s very title--love’s a bitch.

Later, Soul mentally composed an entire monologue that both refuted Patty’s claims and affirmed his true feelings for her, not Maka. In the moment, caught between Patty’s dangerous scowl and Maka’s confused one, Soul could do nothing but stare open-mouthed. It was Maka who took Patty by the hand and dragged her back inside the language building, where she would undoubtedly set her friend straight.

Maka emerged alone. She gave no explanation for where Patty went and simply asked Soul to walk her home.

Autumnal dusk settled over the city earlier every day, and the sky was a cool blue when they began their trek.  Despite having hosted Maka at his place numerous times, Soul had yet to visit Maka’s apartment off-campus. He silently followed her lead as they meandered further from the university, and it was only after walking for a while that he gathered the energy to speak.

“How did it go?” Soul asked. He tried to sound more interested, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Maka shrugged. “She apologized, a lot. Apparently she wasn’t the only one to make that assumption about...you know.”

Soul nodded. “So this whole thing really was too good to be true.” After a beat of silence, he added. “She doesn’t think much of me at all, does she?” Maka stiffened for a moment before sadly shaking her head. “Thought so.” His voice was tight, like a piece of elastic about to snap. “I guess that’s it then. Time to drop out of Spanish and grow a new heart.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Soul,” Maka said. “At least now she knows for sure that you are 100 percent single.”

It had been a mistake to hang his hopes on mere scraps of affection. That’s all they were--scraps, discarded morsels of love that he had never gotten to taste, and he had eagerly eaten them up like a starved dog. Worse yet, he completely deserved this for not knowing better, for becoming too arrogant to truly interpret Patty’s signals. It was his own damned fault.   

“We can still fix this,” Maka continued. “Like I said, the only problem is that she thought we were dating because we hang out so often. All we have to do is--”

“What?” Soul asked, sharply cutting her off. “Stop hanging out? Not be friends anymore?”

The ensuing silence consumed them both as they meditated on the situation. To cut ties with Maka was a very dismal solution indeed. She had filled a void in him, one that he did not even know he had until it was happily brimming with shared bagels, afternoon banter, and late nights at Deathbucks. What would he even do in his spare time if he stopped seeing Maka? What did he even do in his spare time before he met her?

He glanced at her, hoping to see some trace of conflict or sadness on her face, and found none. Maka merely stared ahead at the sidewalk, hardened and resolute. His heart dropped as he realized that she agreed that severing their friendship was the best recourse after all.  

“Tsu thought we were together, and Blake is always joking about it too,” he said. Maka abruptly quickened her pace, and Soul hurried to keep up with her. He didn’t want her to leave him behind, not just yet. “I bet Kid has his own suspicions. We’re obviously doing something to give everyone the wrong idea. I don’t like--I wish--I don’t want to ruin everything for you just because I flat-out failed.” Maka sharply darted around a corner. Was she even listening? “We’ll just hang out less,” Soul finally concluded. “Not never, just less. You won’t even notice I’m not--”

He was cut off by a sudden impact with Maka’s back. Soul was making a habit of running into Maka, but who could blame him when she kept stopping in the middle of the sidewalk without warning? She had halted in front of large, yellow shingled house with a row of mailboxes and trashcans. It was his first impulse sneer about her erratic movements, because bad habits die hard, but he stopped short when he saw how her shoulders trembled and her fists clenched.

Seething with unquenchable fire and fury, Maka kicked over a nearby trash can with an angry snarl. “I’m tired of this!” Empty water bottles, cardboard, and yogurt cups spilled into the street, and the metal lid spun on the asphalt with a loud clatter. She wheeled on him. “Everyone acts like you’re Jack the Ripper and I’m Godzilla, but we’re just a couple of nervous wrecks 24/7. Nobody bothers to see that--nobody _cares_ enough. And now _we_ are the ones who have to change? No way. We are going to be friends whether they like it or not.”

Her energy and passion was truly infectious, and Soul shot her a grin as wide and sharp as a scythe’s blade. “You’re damn right we are! Fuck them! Who's picking up this trash?” 

“Who cares! It’s my trash can.” She proved her point by kicking a water bottle down the street. Realizing that for once it was okay to vent his frustration without fear of judgement--it was her trash after all--Soul joined in and stomped on several scattered yogurt cups. She cheered, prompting him to grin like an idiot and kick some more cardboard. It wasn’t a perfect catharsis, but it was more than either of them had had for a long time.

By the time they were done, the front stoop of Maka’s apartment building was riddled with the remains of her very own garbage. Flushed from exertion, the two began to collect the discarded trash and replace them back into her poor, dented can. It felt good to destroy, but it was also soothing to rebuild. After they threw the last flattened water bottle away, she turned to Soul.

“Listen,” Maka said. “The first chance I get, I’m going to tell Kid how I feel. Once I see that through, I’m going to help you get a second shot with Patty. Things can still work out. I’ll make sure of it.”

Soul’s smile wavered at the mention of Kid’s name. “Sounds like a plan,” he said. 

Maka glanced behind her shoulder at her building’s front door, silently deliberating before shaking her head and adopting a more hopeful expression. “Tomorrow’s a new day. I’ll text you tomorrow when I want to go get breakfast. We can discuss how I should make my move then.”

Using a simple one-armed hug to say goodnight, Maka disappeared through the door of her building, leaving Soul to trudge home alone.

Maka’s declaration that she would finally admit her feelings to Kid was no comfort. Imagining her and his roommate together in the romantic sense was nauseating, and the prospect of discussing such a thing at a meal was even more gross. Soul truthfully had a tough time picturing a force of nature like Maka on any guy’s arm, but then again he could hardly envision himself with anyone either, let alone Patty.  

A new, more gratifying image stirred in Soul’s mind for a few tantalizing moments, but he pushed it away quickly. There were fantasies, and then there was fiction. After the confrontation outside Spanish Cinema, he had learned how to tell the difference.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote from Kid's textbook was borrowed from asexuality.org.


	5. El Nino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Blake ropes his roommates into his fraternity's Halloween party, Soul sees an opportunity to make up with Patty and help Maka get closer to Kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for making you wait so long, so here's 9k of content!
> 
> Thanks to professor-maka and makapedia for general revision and feedback. Big thanks also go to therewithasmile and l0chn3ss, who helped me writer the Halloween party scene in a conscientious way.
> 
> Warnings for mild alcohol consumption, racist halloween costumes.

_Soul (3:00): how do u feel today_

_Maka (3:01): I've quarantined myself. Not great._

_Maka (3:05): Can you do me a favor and get me more iced tea?_

_Soul (3:08): after class_

With a sigh, Soul put his phone face down and rested his forehead on the desk, allowing a jaunty lullaby of Spanish dialogue to drift in and out of his consciousness. The weeks leading up to Halloween were crawling at such an insufferable and lethargic pace that he might as well just sleep through the entire month.

Since that day outside the language building, he and Patty were magnets of opposite polarity, bouncing apart to maintain a constant, unbreachable distance. There was a dull ache that dug its claws further into Soul's chest when he saw her twirl away when they walked too close in the hall, but it wasn't anything he hadn't dealt with before. Now, Patty treated him with the same cautious indifference as everyone else. No big deal.

Well, almost everyone else. Without his usual Spanish partner to whisper to, Soul had struck up a friendship with the pernicious Kim Diehl. He didn't appreciate her attempts to ensnare him in her latest con ("I know someone who can grind down teeth on the cheap, if you want to fix your face") or recruit him as an accomplice ("You look like a guy who knows his way around the warehouse district"), but she was irreverent and clever and she helped pass the time during the endless Spanish films that blurred together into a bland cinematic mess.

Thinking once again of that confrontation with Patty and Maka, Soul shuddered and buried his head deeper in his arms.

Soul often wondered if the girls had talked about him, about that huge misunderstanding about their friendship, emphasis on friend, or about the fact that she felt too awkward to be around him anymore. It was impossible for him to know what conversations or secrets the they shared in private, but it was also pretty unreasonable for him to ask. Maka's constant effort to hang out with him and share an iced tea over matching lovesick hearts was comfort enough.

The abrupt flickering of the lights and pausing of the film signalled that Spanish Cinema was over for the week. "Your reviews of Viridiana are due next class," his professor said. "Email me if you have any questions."

Patty was out the door like a bullet. As the rest of his classmates filed out the door, some looking deeply disturbed by what transpired on screen, Soul plotted how he could coast without wasting another three hours trying to rewatch a movie he had just day-dreamed through.

Back at the Gallows, the dorm lobby was decorated with pumpkin stickers and plastic autumn leaves in an attempt to give the space a more seasonal, festive feel, but Soul wasn't really in the mood for that pumpkin-everything crap. Fall in Death City was a sweaty farce compared to the crisp, vibrant Autumn with a capital A that he grew up with in Long Island.

It was a lucky thing that Kid's decorative impulses never changed with the seasons. The apartment remained comfortable neutral ground no matter what madness was going on outside of it, seasonal or otherwise. The front door was open, so Soul strolled inside, dropping off his heavy schoolbooks and fishing his wallet out of his backpack. If he was going to buy the outrageous amount of iced tea Maka was requesting, he needed to drop the extra weight.

A thin line of light trickled through the bottoms of Kid and Blake's doors. Soul had almost cleared the common room and made it out of the apartment unnoticed by either of them, but Blake loudly shot that horse in the face.

"HEY, whoah, no, where are you going?" Blake kicked open his bedroom door and bounded to his roommate, who was caught in the door frame a mere step away from freedom.

Soul slouched in the doorway and replied, "Her highness is sick, so I'm-"

"Screw her hiney-ness, your deity requests your undivided attention." Soul closed the dorm door and submitted himself to whatever his friend had planned. Blake approached Kid's room and banged on the cheap wooden door with his fist. "Hear that, follower? I have a big proclamation to make!"

Judging by Kid's sharp tone, he did not take kindly to this interruption. "Enough! I'm coming, hold on."

Kid emerged from his room in the most casual clothes he owned-a slim-fit maroon henley, a pair of dark jeans, and oxblood leather shoes. He took the maxim to 'dress for the job you want, not the one you have' more seriously than most college students.

"Glad to have you back in the land of the living," Blake said, clapping Kid on the back. "Listen, I just got a big opportunity for us. The brothers of Star Frat-and me, your god-personally invite you to our big Halloween bash next Saturday!" Blake's face froze in an ecstatic smile, which grew strained and twitchy as his friends remained silent and uncomprehending. "Guys," he said. "I just invited you to the motherfucking rapture. Overflowing thanks would be nice."

Finally, Kid spoke up. "But I thought you weren't allowed to invite unaffiliated men to your parties." The reason neither Kid nor Soul had met Blake's fraternity brothers more than once was because Star Frat placed immense value on its exclusivity. Guys who didn't pledge the frat didn't get to enjoy its wild events, free booze, or attractive groupies.

"True," Blake said with an enthusiastic nod. "We only invite brothers, women...and recruits." Those waggling eyebrows could only mean one thing. It clicked, and Soul and Kid stared at Blake with mirrored expressions of astonishment and abject horror. Blake mistook their shock for excitement and grabbed each by shoulders. "The brothers want you. Both of you guys. It's a little weird to rush sophomores, but after Soul and Red got to know each other and I talked you up, White Star gave me the green light to explore your membership in Sigma Tau Rho!"

Slowly turning towards Soul, Kid whispered with a voice dripping of suspicion and betrayal. "You got to know _whom?"_

Soul could do nothing but shrug, because that one meal he'd had with Red Star was the exact opposite of friendly or pleasant, and its occurrence had seemed so irrelevant compared to the rest of his problems that it had hardly registered as a single blip in his memory. How he convinced Star Frat that he ever, ever, wanted to join their little fuckboy posse was a mystery wrapped in an enigma, but somehow he had made the cut, and his best bro was so full to the brim with excitement that Soul didn't know the kindest way to bluntly squash his dreams.

Hopefully, Kid would pull through and supply the bitter pill. "Well to be truthful Blake, I have a very busy academic schedule," he said with deliberate slowness. "I'm not sure if I could fully commit to a fraternity."

"Me too," Soul added hastily. "I'm really slammed this semester."

"Come on!" Blake pleaded. "I'm not asking you to join right this second. Just come to the party and see how mega awesome amazing we all are."

"Uhh…" Soul glance at Kid, mentally begging him to intervene. There was no way he could say no to something that meant so much to Blake without backup. "I guess going to the party doesn't sound so bad."

"Right," Kid agreed, tight-lipped. "We can attend one party. That isn't unreasonable."

Blake enveloped them both in a strong-armed hug. "I'm so fucking amped! Just think of it, us three amigos, the brothers, partying every night, livin' the high life. I've been pushing for this all semester, and it's been killing me not to tell you guys!" He released them, eyes alight with excitement. "I gotta tell Tsubaki, she's gonna be so thrilled!" With one last 'Yahoo!,' Blake scampered into his room.

The moment their roommate shut his bedroom door, Kid's head snapped towards him. _"This is all your fault!"_ Kid hissed. "I was supposed to be the diplomatic one who deferred to your judgement, and you were supposed to be the confrontational one who gave him a harsh, unequivocal, unnegotiable no!"

Soul had been hoping for the exact same thing, but that didn't stop him from feeling defensive. "You're too chickenshit to just admit you didn't want to go, and now it's _my_ fault?"

"You're his bro! I'm just his friend. It had to be you to break the bad news." Kid began to nibble on his thumbnail. "And now I have to attend a frat party. Unbelieveable." He stormed back into his room and slammed the door.

Unwilling to stay in an apartment that was equal parts piss-yourself-excited and excite-yourself-pissed, Soul grabbed his wallet and left on his iced tea run. There were better places to waste his time than here.

Perishables, the on-campus convenience store, was a glorified 7-Eleven with trumped up prices and a frustratingly narrow selection. Students usually ended up there to get chasers and munchies, sometimes flour and eggs to make cupcakes for club bake sales and whatnot. Maka did not normally give her business to Perishables because she lived off-campus, but Soul didn't know where better to get her iced tea.

A bell dinged when he strode into the store, eyes forward and hands warm in his pockets. Soul browsed the potato chip aisle, aimless and bored, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. A tall girl with dirty blonde hair tucked behind her ears and a look of snide relaxation was standing behind him. He noticed that she was wearing an official Perishables t-shirt, marking her as a store employee. The dinky t-shirt wasn't designed to make the wearer look attractive, but that certainly didn't stop this girl from rocking it all the same.

"Look, my manager told me to follow you around so you don't steal anything," the tall blonde said. "Just a heads up so you don't think I'm trying to hit on you."

When it came to shopping, Soul's surly face really didn't do him any favors. He often ran into retail workers quivering in the aisle, scared shitless as they followed him at their manager's behest. This was the first time a suspicious store employee straight up admitted that they were following Soul, yet the honesty didn't make him feel any better about it. With a curt "thanks," he continued down the aisle with a deepening scowl. Spying the iced tea stacked in the store refrigerator, he lumbered over and opened the fridge door.

"Hey, I know who you are," he heard the girl say behind him. "You're Maka's _not-boyfriend."_

Soul paused by the refrigerator door and closed his eyes so he could feel the brisk cold air waft onto his face and chill his skin. "So you know Maka?" he asked, hefting a twelve pack of clinking iced teas off the shelf and cradling it in his arms.

Despite being a store employee, the blonde watched Soul struggle to negotiate the bulky drinks without bothering to lift a finger. "Sure. She's basically attached to my sister-but not so much anymore, from what I hear." The blonde leaned against the fridge. "The name's Liz. Liz Thompson."

So that was how she seemed to know who he was, though whether it was Maka or Patty that had spilled the beans remained a mystery. Soul tightened his grip on those iced teas, because the last thing he wanted was to drop them like a fool because he was in the presence of her older sister.

Oh shit. Through the simple act of running into someone at the convenience store while he was minding his own damned business, Soul now found himself in the middle of that fleeting stage of friendship called a 'first impression.' Historically, Soul mangled first impressions before he even opened his mouth, but this one might still be salvaged. He only had one chance, and he couldn't fuck this one up. Not if this girl was Maka's friend and Patty's older sister-slash-idol.

"Patty talks about you a lot in Spanish," Soul said, daring to smile. "It's almost like meeting a celebrity."

Liz chuckled-a good sign. "I know you're joking, but you don't know exactly how true that is. Come on, I'll ring you up."

He followed Liz to the register, where she scanned his two 12-packs of iced tea and ran his credit card. When she was done, Liz leaned over the counter. "You better go before the manager thinks I'm wasting time and money," she said, nodding to the left.

Curious to see who the hell this manager that found him so thuggish was, Soul followed her cue and looked towards the left of the store. Motherfucking Kim Diehl, perched on a high stool in the storage room, gave him a cheeky salute and mouthed, 'I'm watching you.' Smiling, Soul saluted back.

The trashcans by the dinky yellow building Maka called home were upright and untouched by nighttime hooligans when he finally arrived with ample iced tea supplies. He climbed the porch stairs, glass bottles clinking with every step, and used his forehead to knock on Maka's door.

It was quite obvious that Maka had not been lying about being sick when she answered the door shivering. She had clearly stepped out of the shower no more than twenty seconds ago-a futile attempt to rally herself for a night of studying no doubt-but a fresh rinse made Maka look more like clammy death. Dressed in sweatpants and a baggy tshirt with water stains blooming across the shoulders and collar, she patted her damp hair with a towel and failed to muster her usually shining smile.

"You look cute," he flatlined.

Her eyes were too dead from a lack of sleep and unending headaches to betray her emotions, but because this was Maka, she made her feelings perfectly clear anyway. "I don't need this negativity in my sickly condition," she responded with a sniff and stepped away from the door; her self-imposed quarantine didn't apply to him. "It's a good thing you overdelivered on the iced tea." Sickness or no, Maka lifted the two 12-packs of iced tea out of Soul's arms with ease and perched them on her one of her narrow, boney shoulders.

Maka's wet towel was unceremoniously dropped on the threshold of the front door. Mumbling _"That's how you get mold, Maka,"_ Soul picked it up and headed inside.

Maka's tiny apartment wasn't impeccably clean by any means, it was more like a controlled chaos. Sure, the posters were slapped onto the walls askew, the countertops hosted various piles of spam mail and magazines, and every drawer qualified as some kind of 'junk drawer,' but Maka had a system in place that she stuck to religiously. With any luck, her strict adherence to that system might make her dream marriage with the hyper-meticulous Kid easier to swallow.

Well, easier for him to swallow. The more Soul got to know Maka, the less he actually felt she and Kid were compatible. Lovestruck or no, Maka's quest felt like taking scissors to a pair of puzzle pieces and forcing them to fit. As his sick friend carried the iced teas into her galley-style kitchen and placed them in her fridge, Soul wondered what would make her more devastated: finding out Kid wasn't interested on her own or hearing it from him first?

"So how was the movie?" Maka asked, snapping the cap off her iced tea. "I wanted to hear about the end."

Soul leaned against the kitchen doorframe and crossed his arms, pretending to remember the conclusion of a Spanish film he didn't pay attention to. "It's a pretty typical Spanish movie," he started. "Depressing. Violent. There's not much to say about it."

"But what happened to the heroine?"

"Uhh, the nun? Yeah, she died." This lie was probably close enough to the truth, considering the direction most of the Spanish movies in his class went. They either ended in a lot of death or a lot of sex.

Maka took one more sip of her drink before replacing the cap. "No she didn't," she said with a sigh. "I looked up Vee-ree-dye-anna before you came over." Soul winced at her mangled attempt at Spanish. "The nun doesn't die. She has an implied threesome with her cousin and some maid."

"For what it's worth, that was my second guess."

"You wouldn't even have to guess if you watched it in the first place. Come here." She grabbed her iced tea off the counter and led him to the living room. Against one wall was a red couch with thin, curved arms. Despite the usual lack of cushions, Maka had erected a large nest of blankets and pillows from her bed. She snuggled into it like a caterpillar settling into a cocoon and beckoned him to follow. Shirking off his sweatshirt, Soul obeyed and nestled himself beside her.

On Maka's lap, her computer was already open to a streamed version of Viridiana.

"I watched it while you were in class," Maka admitted. "What you said about it last week sounded interesting, and I finished all my work earlier and had nothing to do."

Unsaid was Maka's clear desire to talk about this movie, which apparently had interested her enough that she watched it on her own. Soul had originally told her about Viridiana to make small talk, to take up conversational space now that he was too nervous to bring up Patty or float the idea that Kid wasn't a match for her. He didn't realize Maka had actually listened. Or that she actually cared.

Making sure that the box of tissues was close by to Maka's nasty dripping nose, they fast-forwarded the movie an hour and started to watch.

"So I'm on the hook to go to the big Halloween party at Star Frat next Saturday," Soul mentioned without looking away from the screen. "It's going to be a shitshow. Wanna come?" His heart picked up a little as he waited for her answer.

"I should be over this bug by then, so why not?" she finally said. "I didn't think frat parties were your _thing."_

"I would rather shatter my own knee cap than go to that party," Soul said in monotone. "But Blake puts a lot of effort into making time for me and Kid even though he's constantly booked up with Star Frat. Supporting him at one party is the least I can do." As a reluctant afterthought, he added, "Plus Kid's coming, too."

"What?" Maka pursed her lips, rethinking the whole thing. "Well, in that case we need some impressive costumes."

Hopefully that 'we' didn't suggest that they were wearing a lame duo costume.

It was exactly a week later, just after Soul's Spanish Cinema class spent its entire session discussing Viridiana and peer reviewing their essays, when it hit Soul that he was seriously going to attend this Star Frat Halloween party. When he returned home from class with heavy feet and sleepy eyes, Soul saw his roommate Kid leaning against Blake's bedroom door with his ear pressed to the wood. Kid held a finger to his lips to signal Soul to remain quiet as Tsubaki's voice rose within Blake's room.

They were arguing. Blake and Tsubaki, the perfect power couple that never fought or disagreed about anything. He had always thought Tsubaki was too flexible and forgiving to get truly mad at Blake-a truly miraculous feat considering her boyfriend's boisterous personality. At the same time, Blake was extremely courteous of Tsubaki's boundaries and receptive to criticism; he would do anything to achieve godly perfection after all. A shouting match was just out of character, for both of them.

Soul slowly dropped his backpack to the floor and crept over to Kid. He leaned against the wall and slid to the ground, careful not to alert the squabbling couple in the other room. With only a single layer of drywall separating himself from the fight, Soul could hear them clearly.

"But it's not okay!" Tsubaki said within Blake's room. "All of us from DUJA are upset about this, and you should be too! They're making a _mockery_ of us Blake!"

That feeling of shame Soul felt while snooping in Kid's room came rushing back, and he jerked away from the wall before he could eavesdrop anymore.

"What's going on?" Soul whispered.

Kid detached his ear from the door and swiveled to his friend. "I'll get you up to speed," Kid whispered. "Star Frat just voted on its Halloween party theme. Blake's choice, Togas and Yoga, was eliminated almost immediately. The two frontrunners, if you will, were CEOS and Corporate Hoes and Gangstas and Geishas." Kid cringed as he spoke the words. "The election was a tossup until the introduction of darkhorse candidate Robots and Sluts, which then split the misogynist vote and paved the way for the racist choice, Gangstas and Geishas, to secure the win. And now," He paused his muted rant to shoot Soul an accusatory look. "Since I'm _obligated_ to attend this party, I have to find a costume that completely covers my face and obscures my silhouette so that when photos of this horrible event inevitably end up all over the Internet, _I won't go down with them!"_

"Yeah, but what's going on with those two?" Soul asked, pointing at Blake's closed door.

"Well," Kid said. "It's two nights before Halloween and Tsubaki no longer wants to attend the party at all. That's what's going on. In case you couldn't tell, I agree with her. You think he'll mind if I don't go if Tsubaki doesn't too?"

"Of course he would-especially if Tsubaki bailed. And there's no way you're abandoning me at a Star Frat party."

The raised voices muffled by Blake's door reached a crescendo, and both boys darted to the couch in a futile attempt to look like they weren't eavesdropping on the fight. Keeping his eyes trained on a television neither roommate had switched on _(fuck)_ , Soul heard Blake's door fly open and firm footsteps hurrying towards him. Tsubaki was a blur as she rushed between the couch and the television, but even though she was storming away, she opened and closed the dorm door with care.

Blake stood by the threshold of his bedroom, his eyes trained on the front door long after it had closed and Tsubaki had gone. He seemed unsure of what to do, what to say, so he just ruffled his blue hair and cleared his throat with a guttural cough.

"So," Blake said. "Halloween is this Saturday. Do you guys know what costumes you're gonna wear?"

Kid swiveled away from the dark television screen to look at him. "I have some ideas," he said vaguely.

"I'm just gonna be a shark again," Soul said. It was his last minute costume of choice because it wasn't a costume at all. He usually put on a light hoodie, tape a fin on somewhere and showed up at parties as is. Red eyes were freaky during the daytime, but on Halloween night they were convenient. "What about you?"

Blake shrugged. "Still looking at my options. I'll just, uh, see you guys later. Got crunches to do." They watched him retreat back into his room, but instead of hearing the sharp beats of Blake's exercise playlist through the wall, the sad crooning of Phil Collins filled up the dorm instead.

* * *

_Maka (9:01 p.m.): Meet me at the corner of Memento Mori Ave and 42 St_

_Soul (9:01 p.m.): gotcha_

_Soul (9:02 p.m.): ive got u know who with me_

_Soul (9:03 p.m.): u know who i mean right?_

_Soul (9:05 p.m.): its kid_

_Maka (9:05 p.m.): I KNOW_

Wearing a white jacket with a cardboard dorsal fin duct taped to the hood, Soul was about as prepared for the Star Frat Halloween bash as anybody. He just didn't like standing next to Kid, who had spent hours constructing a costume designed to both impress onlookers and hide his identity.

Kid had chosen to dress as the grim reaper for Halloween, but it wasn't any kind of grim reaper Soul had ever seen before. He wore a long ragged dark cloak over a dress shirt, slacks, and waist coat. The entire ensemble was the same matching shade of black, which Kid has described earlier as 'almost vantablack,' the darkest shade of black in existence. The real kicker was the cartoony skull mask covering his face, which looked a bit silly for the personification of death. Well, to each their own.

The infamous 42nd St. was the home of every fraternity on campus. DCU freshmen often visited the street, starting at the corner of Memento Mori, and hit every frat house down the line. Frat row ended after three blocks at Sepulcher Dr. It was here, at the end of the line where all the drunkest partiers would ultimately congregate, that Star Frat was located.

When they arrived at the corner, Soul saw that Maka had not come alone. No, she was flanked by Liz and Patty Thompson.

Soul literally could feel beads of sweat trickling into his armpit hair. They could avoid each other in Spanish class, but there was nowhere for Soul and Patty to hide from each other now. The fact that Liz was there, smirking at him like she knew a huge secret, did little to calm his nerves. Why did he agree to attend this party? Why did he feel the need to drag Maka into it when it was, in retrospect, incredibly likely that she would bring her friends to tag along?

"Oh, hello Patty," Kid said with a nod. Though he was in the presence of all of their friends, he didn't take the mask off. "Liz. I like your shepherdess outfit."

"Sexy Lil' Bo Peep," Liz corrected. She wore a pink, frilly dress lined with lace and deeply lowcut, and on her head she wore a bonnet bedecked with sparkly ribbons. She also carried a staff the size of a candy cane. "Or Mary I guess, from the nursery rhyme? Patty's my widdle lamb."

Dressed in a white leotard with small cotton balls hot glued onto the fabric and a large ball of fluff attached to the small of her back, Patty was the portrait of innocence. She had painted her nose and cheeks with soft, white makeup and outlined her nose to create the illusion of a snout.

Patty must have lent her face-painting skills to Maka, who was dressed as a tiger. Her striped jumpsuit and cat ears were really well done, even if she looked a little cold in the October evening.

"Wait," Maka said, sounding suspicious. "You and Kid know each other already?"

Liz shrugged. "I get around."

She didn't elaborate on what 'getting around' really meant, leaving Maka no choice but to scrunch up her face and swallow her jealousy. In her tigress face paint, this act looked super adorable.

"You're taking your nickname literally now?" Soul noted.

Maka's grin was deliciously feral. It was so good to see her so energized and ready to brawl after being sick for a whole week. "I'm reclaiming it, just like you are. I didn't think you knew about the sharkface nickname."

"Uh, I didn't."

"Welp, No time to explain now! We've got a party to go to."

They started their trek down 42nd, passing by other groups of costumed students along the way. Patty, walking in a wide arc so as to avoid coming within a few feet of Soul, hooked arms with both Maka and Kid and pulled them to the head of the pack. The magnetic barrier between them held strong, even when they were hanging out in the same group.

Feeling a bit deflated, Soul fell in step with Liz behind them. She withdrew a bottle of clear liquid from her purse and took a long gulp. Noticing Soul watching her, she offered it to him. She seemed unconcerned about germs or backwash, so he obliged and took a slow sip. The last thing he wanted was to chug some rancid vodka, or diesel, or-

Water. Just water.

His face must have betrayed his shock because Liz threw her head back and laughed. "Gotcha," she said, taking the bottle from his hands. "I'm not drinking tonight. Think of me as your party guide. And Soul?" Her voice grew more serious. "Patty doesn't like to share or apologize, but for you she's trying to do both. Maybe if you stop looking like a kicked puppy, she'll actually succeed."

Soul meditated on how to look neither like a kicked puppy or a great white shark until they arrived at 42nd and Sepulcher. They stood across the street from the frat house, and Liz balanced her ribbony shepard wand on her shoulder.

"As Sexy Lil' Bo Beep, I say the flock should stick together," she said. "We're walking into a literal lion's den here, and no one is getting Xanaxed on my watch."

"As Business Casual Grim Reaper, I agree," Kid said. "We can't very well pair off, there being five of us."

"I'll stick with Maka," Soul said without thought.

"I thought Maka and I would be party buds," Patty replied. This was first time Patty had spoken to him in weeks.

Maka made the final decision with a wave of her hand. "Yeah, yeah, just stick with whoever is closest. Come on, let's stop looking at the party and go inside." She quietly grabbed hold of Soul's hand, and a spark of static jolted from her fingertips to his. Their hands jerked apart for a moment before threading together tightly.

The Greek letters signifying Sigma Tau Rho were welded to a scrappy star, which in turn was perched directly above the front door, declaring the rundown home as the headquarters of Star Frat, the most revered fraternity on campus. A graveyard of crushed red solo cups dotted the grass, and clusters of students dressed as flappers and cats-the remnants of the already busted Great Catsby party down the street-sat on the front steps and milled in and out of the side gate. Party access was restricted to a direct path through a wooden gate and winding around the house and towards the backyard. Portly uniformed police officers were stationed by the gate, and they shone their flashlights on each student's ID for a millisecond before granting them entry.

"Those are rent-a-cops," Patty whispered. "I bet they're just there to keep the neighbors from calling the real cops."

With the exception of Liz, who was already 21, none of their group possessed an ID that said they were legally allowed to drink. Nonetheless, they passed through Star Frat's faux security with ease. Upon clearing the gate, the five maneuvered around a clearly wasted freshman dressed in a karate uniform knockoff cinched with striped tie zigzagging down the alleyway. When he slurred a hello to the girls and reached towards Maka's striped jumpsuit, Soul shot him savage glare that silently yelled _'back off'_ to the rooftops, causing the dude to choke a little on his own spit and creep away.

That one drunk dude in a karate outfit was just a harbinger of what was to come.

'Shit show' was putting it mildly. The expansive backyard was full to the brim with grinding, sweaty bodies decked out in a variety of cheap fabrics and wigs. There were plenty of random costumes-corseted angels and devils, heavily made up vampires, skimpily dressed first responders-but the bulk of party attendees had taken the Star Frat party theme to heart.

Snapbacks. Top knots secured with chopsticks. String of plastic golden beads worn as 'bling.' Dozens of students had turned themselves into racist caricatures, but amid the throbbing music and endless alcohol, no one seemed to care. The worst offenders of all were the Star Frat members themselves, who had dressed as rappers and ninjas complete with dark facepaint and stick-on Fu Manchu mustaches.

The spectacle before them left Liz and Patty looking awkward and confused. Most disturbing, Maka's face had gone completely white with quiet indignation. He waited for her to make a snarky quip or a dry joke, but she just took it all in with quaking fists and a quivering lip.

"This is why as a rule I never dress as a party theme," Liz said in an attempt to shake the group out of its collective shock. "A hundred people are here, but we stand out because we're unique. Hey Kid, you don't see any other gunslinging grim reapers out there, do you?"

Kid's mask hid his facial expression, but the stiffness of his body and dragging footsteps made it plain that he was a swirling mass of regret.

When he didn't answer, Liz forced herself to laugh. "That's right Kid, you don't. Because you're a creative guy. C'mon, time to get some booze."

It was common knowledge that Star Frat jungle juice-aka Star Vat-was disgusting, so Team Bo Peep crept into the crowd towards the kegs. A blonde wearing a cross between a nightie and a kimono was doling out red solo cups of Natty Light, all the while flashing a tightlipped smile at party-goers beneath a layer of white makeup and red lipstick. When she handed Soul a cup, he strained to yell 'Thanks' over the music and took a sip. It tasted like sour, carbonated water. It was clear to him now that alcohol would not make time go faster or suddenly make Soul more glad to be there. This party was going to drag, and if this water-downed crap was any indication, they would all be painfully sober the entire time.

While Liz continued to drink out of her water bottle, Patty downed her beer without hesitation and threw the cup back on the ground.

"Let's get nasty!" Patty tugged on Maka's free hand and headed into the crowd. Soul caught Maka glancing backwards at him before releasing his hand, but it was so fleeting that he didn't know what it meant. Was it an invitation to come with? An apology for ditching him? An affirmation that she'll be back?

"What are you waiting for?" Liz asked, stowing her water bottle in her cross-body purse. "You coming?"

"I'm going to find Blake," Soul decided. "He was the one who invited us here after all." He would meet back up with the girls later.

"Good thinking." This was the first time Kid has spoken since they arrived at the party. Though his voice was muffled by the mask, it was clear that it was staying put on his face no matter what.

And so Team Bo Peep separated, the girls walking into the heart of the dance floor in the backyard and the boys tepidly journeying into the bowels of Star Frat.

The interior of the house was devoid of furniture or wall decor, save for a framed fraternity portrait and a couch pushed snug against the wall. The passageway to the kitchen was blocked off by a rolling bar, which kept revelers at bay as Star Frat members mixed drinks in the kitchen and handed them out. The music wasn't quite so loud in here, and party-goers seemed to drift in and out as they got more drinks and used the bathroom. The line for the bathroom curled around a corner, and Soul heard a faint _eugh_ from behind Kid's mask.

The sound of ping pong balls bouncing drew them to a large room that held four large collapsable tables covered in red solo cups. Multiple beer pong games were happening at once, hence the constant flying of errant ping pong balls and the cheering. One ball knocked over a spectator's drink, and its spilled contents splashed onto Soul and Kid's feet.

"Eughhhh."

"Hang in there, Kid."

They heard Blake whooping on the other side of the room, and sure enough there he was at one end of a ping pong table, absolutely creaming the competition. Best of all, Tsubaki was playing alongside him, beaming as their obvious skill delivered them sweet victory.

Not only had Blake convinced Tsubaki to attend the party after all, but it looked like Tsubaki's good sense had rescued both of them from a racist costume disaster. She wore a dark blue toga made of a bedsheet safety-pinned to her body and secured with a rope sash. Meanwhile, Blake wore nothing but a pair of tight black yoga pants that hugged his hips and thighs and flared at the calf. Together they were Togas and Yoga, a party theme all on their own.

Soul saddled up to his roommate just as Tsubaki was aiming her next shot. "Nice pants," he said.

"Namaste away from me, plebe," Blake responded without looking at him. "Tsubaki is about to take her turn."

Tsubaki bit her lip and narrowed her eyes before throwing the ping pong ball with laser precision. It landed in the final cup with a soft plink!

Blake turned to his girlfriend, ecstatic. "Hell yeah, Team Gods Among Mortals wins again! Low five! High five! HIGHER five!" On the last high five, Tsubaki rose on her tiptoes so she could raise her hand as high as possible. Blake leapt into the air so he could smack her palm, and then whooped again.

"You two should play us!" Tsubaki said to Kid and Soul. "I've spent all night playing against strangers. It would be so fun to finally play with friends!"

Tsubaki was by no means lacking in friends. The fact that she had been actively waiting for Soul and Kid to arrive at the party could only mean that no one else Tsu knew had even come. He felt sorry that she not only had to endure this clusterfuck of a party, but that she also had to do it with only Blake as a support. Hell, if they had their way, neither Soul nor Kid would have attended the party at all. Then Tsu would have been truly alone.

Blake began to rearrange red solo cups and fill them with beer. "Great idea. I'll get everything set up-"

"Ahem."

A tall Star Frat brother in a fat suit left his own beer pong table to speak to Blake. He was probably supposed to be a sumo wrestler given the towel-like diaper fashioned around his waist, but the rice farmer hat on his head sent mixed signals.

"Yo, Black Star," the sumo wrestler said. "Where's your costume? I thought you were gonna be Tupac or Kanye."

Blake forced a boisterous laugh. "Psssh, why dress as Tupac when I can be six pack? Seriously, have you looked at this, Green Star?" He gestured to his abs to prove his point.

Underneath the straw hat, Green Star narrowed his eyes and gave Blake a curt nod. "Anyways, White Star is ready for your friends," Green Star said. "So, who wants to go first?" Strong hands shoved Soul directly into Green Star's fluffy chest, which smelled of stale axe bodyspray. "Take it easy, buddy," he said with a laugh. "Just follow me, I'll take you to him real quick."

Bewildered, Soul looked back to shoot a mean look at whoever was behind him, but found that it was Kid, not Blake, who was looming behind him, the unrepentant traitor. _Thanks a lot for nothing, Kid._

Now completely abandoned by his whole group, Soul mumbled an apology and followed Green Star. The music, already blaring so loud that he could feel each beat vibrate his very bones, grew more deafening. Soul strained to hear his own voice when he asked Green Star where they were going, but somehow the frat brother's response came through loud and clear-White Star. He was going to meet the head honcho, the guy behind Star Frat's greatness.

The stairs were cordoned off by a couple collapsible chairs. Green Star and Soul stepped over them and climbed the stairway

Soul had only ever heard of White Star, but offhanded comments from Blake and his bros did not do the real guy justice. White Star was tall and tan, with a regal grecian nose and dirty blonde hair styled in a classic taper haircut. He was wearing a black store-bought samurai robe cinched at the waist that looked both regal and tacky.

White Star extended a hand. "You must be Soul."

Soul took it. "Yep, Soul Evans."

"Eric Whittaker," White Star said as they shook hands, flapping the sleeves of his large robe.

"Whitacre?" Soul asked. "Like the composer?"

"Damn, I wish! Let's move this party out of the hall," he added opening a bedroom door and stepping inside.

The transition from thundering music to silence was disorienting, and the pounding of his eardrums faltered in their rhythm. White Star's room was pretty typical for a college kid; his desk housed a macbook and several half-finished bottles of liquor, a beanbag chair sat like a lump by the bed, and the walls were covered in random posters and photographs. There was a large window that overlooked the backyard with a thick window pane-a clear sign that the room was sound-proofed.

And then he spotted the 1993 Gibson Les Paul hanging on the wall. It was a traditional electric guitar, with the signature Les Paul shape that Soul coveted during indulgent visits to Guitar Center. It was the color of a young sunset, with a deep red prickling at the edges that transitioned into warm orange and then golden rod. It was a work of art, and he didn't even know what its timbre sounded like.

Seeing Soul's awe, White Star walked over to the instrument and plucked it off the wall. For a guitar that was probably solid wood, it appeared weightless in White Star's hands.

"Black Star told me you were into music," he said, absentmindedly plucking at the guitar strings. Electric guitars didn't make a lot of sound without an amplifier, yet even without being plugged in Soul's trained ear could hear its clear notes. "I'm no Eric Whitacre, but I fancy myself a musician too," White Star said. "Me and some of the other brothers jam from time to time. Only on the best equipment of course. You want to try her out?"

Soul took the guitar out of White Star's hands as if it were a child; he would never slander this beauty by referring to it as simple 'equipment.' He strummed the G chord to get a feel of the instrument and sighed. "Now that's beautiful," Soul said. _Those tones_. With deep reluctance, Soul handed the instrument back over to White Star, who replaced it on the wall. Playing something so beautiful, even for a second, left Soul feeling a little giddy. Maybe all the stuff Blake had told him about the great and benevolent White Star were true.

"Is that why this room is sound proofed?" Soul asked. "So you can practice in peace?"

This made White Star laugh. "Well that's one reason," he admitted with a laugh. "Let's just say that when you're the president of a frat, you don't get as much privacy as you like. Up here though, I can literally avoid the world and all of its bullshit."

Soul nodded along. "I would kill for a sanctuary like that."

"Well, that's what we're hear to talk about," White Star pulled a rolling chair from under his desk and sat down. He gestured for Soul to sit in the bean bag chair. "Is Sigma Tau Rho the sanctuary you're looking for?"

Sitting in a beanbag chair didn't really instill Soul with confidence. In fact, it made him feel weak, like he was at a disadvantage while White Star had the high ground. He needed to tell White Star straight that he wasn't interested in actually joining the fraternity, but he also didn't want to word it badly in case Blake got in trouble for it somehow. While he had thought of a few ways to steer the conversation away from joining Star Frat, a beanbag chair wasn't where he envisioned using them.

Plus he sort of liked White Star. Soul managed to make a successful first impression on Liz-why not repeat that with White Star? Just because he wasn't going to join the fraternity didn't mean they couldn't be friends.

"Well," Soul began. "Blake-er, Black Star-he talks about you guys a lot. He is always saying how great you all are."

White Star nodded with approval. "I wouldn't expect anything less from my little brother-that means, like, protege in the brotherhood."

"Blake really fits in Star Frat," Soul continued. "And while I was down to check things out, I'm not sure if I-"

"I understand feeling uncertain," White Star said, cutting him off. "But you have to take into account how frat life changes you-for the better. Take Black Star, for example. Before he joined us, he had like two friends, mediocre grades, and he could only bench press like 100 pounds. He was the guy none of the other frats wanted, but I saw potential in him. Now he has a full social life, he tries harder in school, and just last week he benched 300. A huge improvement. Next thing you know, he's gonna have the girl of his dreams on his arm."

As one of the two friends Blake had made before joining the fraternity, this monologue made Soul feel...odd. Like he was a pimple in a 'Before' photograph that got photoshopped out for the 'After' image. The bench pressing numbers also seemed made up, since Blake had been focused on fitness long before joining Star Frat. But it was White Star's last statement that compelled Soul to speak up.

"Didn't he meet Tsubaki after he joined the fraternity?" Soul asked. "It seems to me like he already got the girl of his dreams."

White Star's expression darkened. "I'm not so sure about that."

He rose from his chair and walked over to the window. "Don't get me wrong, she's pretty and sweet, I love Tsu to death, she's like a sister's friend to me, but I don't know," White Star said. "I'm really protective of my bros, and when I see them with someone who doesn't respect them, I try to guide them in a better direction. You're Blake's friend too, so I'm sure you understand my concern here."

Soul didn't even know what to say. His reading of Blake and Tsubaki's relationship didn't wave any red flags; if anything, it was the type of relationship he wanted to have one day, to date a best friend, to fall for a person he could sort of resonate with on a deeper level. To date, the only thing that really put strain on Tsu and Blake's relationship was, well-

"Take this party for instance," White Star said. "When I pick an event theme, the last thing I need is some uppity asian girl pulling the race card on _me_ and conflicting one of _my_ brother's loyalties. I have an organization to run after all, and at the end of the day we're just here to have fun. A little party never hurt anybody."

Soul's mind wandered to Tsubaki's sharp comments during her fight with Blake- _"They're making a mockery of us!"_

He thought of Tsubaki's loneliness as she played unending rounds of beer pong, and Blake blatantly disregarding the party theme to support her.

He thought of Maka's paling face when she first arrived. That a girl known for speaking her mind could be rendered so speechless in her anger spoke volumes, and he hated seeing her so painfully silenced.

A little party could hurt somebody.

Though he stared at White Star with glazed eyes, Soul internally witnessed an enormous gulf open between them. In the depths of that chasm lay the ruins of any residual desire he had to be associated with Star Frat, let alone a friend of White Star.

Soul's phone buzzed in his pocket and he peeked at the screen.

_Kid (10:12 p.m.): This is your escape text._

"Sorry man, but that was Kid," Soul said. "He's vomiting on the sidewalk. Too much Star Vat, you know? I don't think he has the liver to join a fraternity." This was a bold-faced lie. Kid held his alcohol better than anyone Soul knew.

"Of course," White Star said. He clapped Soul on the shoulder. "We'll be in touch."

_No we fucking won't._

Soul didn't really hide his eagerness to get the hell out of White Star's room and downstairs. Kid was waiting for him at the bottom, disguising himself as a party-goer who was extremely interested in his phone. He didn't waste any time meeting his roommate.

"So I was just thinking that I hate everything about this party and I want to go home," Soul said.

Kid shifted his skull mask to his forehead. His bangs were plastered to his skin by the stifling humidity inside the house. "I've been thinking that since we arrived," he responded. "This is a hell house. Everyone is drinking this orangish swill, the floor is covered in sludge, and at least three strange women have tried to put their hands in my back pocket!"

"Let's find the others. Even if they want to stick around, we can at least tell them we're done."

"Agreed. You find the girls. I'll speak to Blake and Tsubaki."

Soul had left the frat house and journeyed into the crowded backyard when he realized that he didn't know where the girls were. The crowd had waned since they arrived, but there were still far too many people per square foot for Soul to see clearly or feel comfortable. The constant movement of people dancing to erratic EDM beats did not make searching the crowd a simple mission. He pushed through the crowd, careful to avoid stepping on toes or elbowing anyone in the face, when he felt a tap on his upper back.

Soul twisted to look over shoulder and jumped out of his skin when he saw Patty standing there. Being packed between so many bodies had taken a toll on her facepaint, which had begun to chip and smear. The way those large ocean eyes bored into his made his stomach flip flop with dread.

"Soul. Are you mad at me?" Patty asked with a cock of her head. "Because I thought you and Maka were dating?"

It was a blessing that the lights were so dim, the music so loud, and the air so musty with sweat and alcohol, because Soul was blushing, stammering, and sweating all the at the same time. "I'm not mad," he answered immediately. "I was surprised, but not mad."

The magnetic barrier between them held strong, even in the middle of a throbbing crowd. "But it's been so weird," Patty said with frankness. "You don't just avoid people because you're surprised."

"I was giving you space because you were avoiding me."

Patty frowned and look down at her feet. "Only because I thought you were mad."

"Shit, we're going in circles," Soul said. "What is it, Patty?"

"You're a really good friend to Maka," she blurted. "I thought I ruined it. I thought I hurt her by trying to help her, like I usually do."

"Maka and I are still friends! What happened was weird, but a misunderstanding isn't going to change that." He swallowed. "If you want, we can be friends too."

The offer was out there, so Soul waited. Patty was always a tough person to read because unlike him, her poker face wasn't a blank slate. Part of him was afraid that here, in the middle of a Star Frat party surrounded by strangers, she would just reject him outright and shut down any hope that they could be friends or otherwise. But dancing around each other and never knowing where they stood was worse, and if acquaintances was all they would ever be, Soul needed to know that sooner rather than later.

The tense moment ended when Patty shot him a big smile. "Friends it is!"

She gave him a brief hug before springing backwards. The magnetic force field wasn't gone, but it wasn't insurmountable anymore.

"So!" Patty said. "Let's go find Maka and tell her we're all made up now! Where is she?"

Soul blinked. "I dunno. I thought she was with you."

Patty blinked back at him. "She left me on the dance floor ages ago. She said she was going to find you."

This was news to Soul, who would have rather hung out with Maka than indulge White Star. "Well if she's not with you, and she never found me, where is she?"

They both fell silent as the mystery of Maka's whereabouts settled between them like a fizzling spark drifting to the ground. And when that spark finished its descent, it hit them that they had lost Maka at a frat party-a _Star Frat_ party-after they had both sort of promised to be her party buddy. And if Soul's troubling conversation with White Star was any indication, this was a dangerous thing indeed.

The two immediately dashed towards the house, only to be constantly stalled by the drunken crowd. Patty shamelessly shoved people out of her way, ripping apart dancing couples and knocking over drinks. Someone touched Soul on the shoulder and told him to 'watch it,' but they quieted real quick when he snarled over his shoulder and followed Patty's path of destruction.

Once inside, Soul searched for a familiar face, anyone he could trust to help find Maka. Blake was resetting another beer pong game, and he waved when he saw them approach.

"Hey! How did the one-on-one with White go?" Blake said.

Soul ignored his question. "We're looking for Maka. Any idea where she went?"

"Oh right! I told her to head upstairs with-"

Patty didn't wait to hear him finish. She turned on her heel and hurried to the stairs, with Soul trailing behind her.

Once upstairs, they were faced with a row of closed doors. A trickle of familiar laughter filtered through a door at the end of the hall-not White Star's room, to Soul's relief. Patty essentially kicked down the door, causing three figures inside to start and gasp with surprise. Tsubaki, Liz, and Maka were all sitting crosslegged on the floor, passing around Liz's water bottle.

He and Patty stared at the group, panting from exertion and fright. "There you fucking are," Patty breathed with menace. "You…" Patty's expression flipped from anger to playfulness. _"Elusive minx!"_ She dropped to her knees to give Maka a tight hug on the floor.

Soul was too livid to consider sitting down. "Maka, you said were going to stick with one of us," he said, furious. "We almost shat ourselves when we realized-"

"Hey, calm down Mom and Dad," Liz said. "Your baby is safe with Auntie Elizabeth. No need to get your panties all twisted. Sexy Lil' Bo Peep protects her flock."

Entangled in Patty's arms, Maka groaned. "I know I'm small, but I'm a fighter. I can take care of myself."

"Awww, you're too cute to take care of yourself," Patty said. She twirled one of Maka's pigtails around her finger and started a loose braid.

Having located Maka, Soul allowed himself to exhaled and bring his thundering anxiety back to a low hum. They must have retreated upstairs in order to get some privacy and quiet, probably with Blake's blessing since he was a frat brother. He felt a surge of affection for Blake, who despite being tangled up in Star Frat, really did do all he could to support his friends.

The door cracked open, and a skull mask peeked inside. "Hello?" Kid asked. "Is this where we're all hiding? I thought we were on our way home."

"Yeah, let's blow this popsicle stand," Patty agreed.

Soul was struck by an idea. It wasn't one that made him entirely happy, but at least he could make it up to Maka for dragging her all the way to a Star Frat party. "Kid, can you take Maka home?" he asked. "She lives off campus in the opposite direction of everyone else, and I'm gonna stick around and, uh, chill with Tsubaki and Blake."

Some alone time with Kid ought to cheer her up, plus he trusted that she would be in safe hands with him. At the very least they would be able to talk about books or gender studies or something while walking to her place. Maybe it would be enough to show Maka that Kid wasn't the one. Or maybe it would go exceedingly well, and he'd become their third wheel by November 1st. It wasn't really up to him.

But Maka was ill-prepared for this suggestion, and she gave him an urgent look that was a mixture of 'Let's do it' and 'Abort mission.' Heat was literally radiating off her red cheeks when she answered, "I can walk home alone just fine on my own."

"No, no," Kid pressed. "I know you're capable, but it is late. Plus we all agree to stay together. Liz and Patty will go back to campus, Soul will go back with Blake and Tsu, and I'll walk you home. If I call a cab to your address now, it'll be ready to collect me by the time we get there."

More than eager to go, Kid whipped out his phone and started making a call. Maka took a deep breath and got to her feet, steeling herself for the journey. As she left with the others, she mouthed a quiet 'thank you' before exiting the room.

Soul reminded himself that whatever happened next was up to Maka and, to some extent, fate. He could actively mend things with Patty and avoid the raging shitstorm that was Star Frat, but when it came to Maka, he could only provide a small push and see which direction the waves took her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't very SoMa heavy because of all the new characters/plot. Next chapter they will be back at center stage!


	6. La Nina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An attempted hookup becomes a heart-to-heart when Maka reveals what happened after the Star Frat Halloween party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SoMa takes centerstage this chapter. Thanks to Proma and Bendandcurl for looking over this nonsense. 
> 
> Some alcohol consumption, explicit language, discussion of sexual themes and consent, but zero sexual content.

The Star Frat party’s energy had started to wane shortly after Soul’s group departed and left him with Blake. He had spent the next couple hours losing at beer pong to Tsubaki and Blake and, eventually, hiding upstairs with Tsu to avoid the frat brothers.

The first thing Soul did when he woozily roused from sleep at 11 a.m. on November 1st was to roll over and fumble for his phone. He’d left his contacts in when he went to sleep, and his eyes stung and watered as he squinted at the screen. The last vague memory percolating in the back of Soul’s mind was the urge to stay awake until he confirmed that Maka had made it home okay. Despite his intentions, he had just fallen asleep like the lump he was.

He must have passed out shortly after sending her a single, embarrassing message. 

_Soul (1:12 am): lemme knwo u homr_

_Maka (8:03 am): Did you drink star vat? Ew._

Did he? 

Soul mustered the brainpower to type out an invitation to lunch or brunch or whatever mealtime it was. Maka quickly replied that she ‘had other plans,’ and Soul’s stomach threatened to turn itself inside out.

He should ask Kid how their little walk home went. Maybe they bantered the whole way about Oscar Wilde and school. Maybe they didn’t say anything the entire time and just moved in silence. Maybe Maka’s romantic little dreams came true. Maybe they didn’t. The curiosity would have consumed him alive had Soul not already felt too queasy and sleepy to think.

Sleeping away Sunday and pretending he didn’t have homework was his ideal end to the weekend, anyway.

In the coming days, Maka seemed to make a concerted effort to slide off Soul’s radar. In her defense, the timing sucked; the classes that everyone tried so hard to forget about around Halloween came back with a vengeance, and the campus-wide scramble not to flunk out halfway through the semester ate up everyone’s social calendars. Especially hers. Maka was studious to a fault, and he didn’t want to intrude on her cram sessions. 

But still, Soul felt her absence more keenly than he liked to admit. On the Thursday after Halloween, he looked out for Maka by the English building after leaving Spanish Cinema. No dice. 

At first this seemed like the perfect opportunity to hang out with Patty after class, but even that slipped through his fingers for a more embarrassing reason. Patty liked to skip and rush from place to place. The only way to keep pace with her was to jog, and running with a backpack on was even more undignified than just simply _running._ If Soul didn’t have his pride, what did he have?

Pride wasn’t actually his greatest sin. Soul had become greedy. For so long he had been able to sustain himself on the friendship of his roommates, but when his social circle doubled, his quota of human interaction did as well. Now he couldn’t help but scan the area for a friendly face like a puppy with abandonment issues every time he ventured through campus. Damn it. 

He had almost crossed the academic quad when he spotted someone he didn’t expect--Tsubaki, waiting patiently outside the Office of Disability Services. 

Well, Maka was giving him the cold shoulder, and Patty walked too fast for his slow ass to catch up. Nothing weird about dropping by to chat with Tsu. 

She noticed him coming over her shoulder, and waited until he made it across the green. Soul mentally groped for a good conversation starter that wasn’t merely stating the obvious. 

“Hey, Tsubaki. You waiting for someone?” he finally settled upon.

“Blake is taking his anatomy exam,” Tsubaki explained. “He should be finishing up soon, though.”

“Think he’ll do okay?”

“Oh, I’m sure he will. It’s not in Blake’s character to do anything less than his best. He just needs to do it at his own pace. So,” Tsubaki asked with cheer. “Did you work everything out with Maka? After the party?”

“Work what out?” he said, his mouth suddenly completely dry.

“Your gut feeling about her crush with Kid. Did you get a chance to tell her your doubts?”

The sweat glands in his armpits responded before Soul’s mind or voice had a chance. “How would you know about that?” Hell, _he_ didn’t even know about that. 

“You told me!” Tsubaki then gave him a gentle, if not pitying smile. “Oh, right. You might not remember, but you lost to Black Star at beer pong without making a single cup. It was either take a naked lap around the house or drink a wounded soldier. Well, a few of them.” 

A wounded soldier was, in Star Frat speak, an abandoned, half-finished drink; usually flat beer or watery jungle juice. But it could honestly be anything. His nauseousness after the big Star Frat party suddenly made way more sense, and he just might puke in front of the Office of Disability Services to purge that wounded soldier from his system. 

“You couldn’t stop talking about her,” Tsubaki recalled with a small laugh. “I’ve never heard you talk so much in my life.”

This news was even worse than learning that he ingested a wounded soldier. Soul was glad he was so practiced in controlling his tone and expression. “Seriously? Weird. What did I even say?” 

“A lot of things. But I think the most important part was that we agreed that while you can’t control your friends’ actions, it’s important to look out for them just in case they need you.” Tsubaki was most likely sitting on a gold mine of blackmail material, and she was just letting it go. Soul opened his mouth to tell her that she was a goddamn _saint,_ but paused when he saw her frown. “Honestly, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” she said. “You see, there’s something about Blake. I haven’t seen him take his prescription at his regular time lately, and I’m really afraid that White Star guy is--”

She stopped speaking and her face became a blank mask. In an instant, her concern was replaced with joy, and she waved over Soul’s shoulder. Blake had emerged from the Office, chatting amiably to a reedy student with choppy pink hair walking beside him. While Soul couldn’t make out anything from the pink-haired student, he could clearly hear every loud word that escaped Blake’s mouth.

“‘Course you did good,” Blake said. His voice soared over the quad with ease. “You’re Cronye West. You’re top tier. Plus you sat next to me, and my residual greatness bleeds over into other people. Anyways, I’ll see ya back here for finals week.”

Blake set out to meet Tsubaki, and ‘Cronye West’ headed towards the bike rack. They kneeled to remove a lock from a large, intimidating bike that Soul recognized instantly--the Ragnarok 300 in black blood. One of the best mountain bikes on the market. Soul wanted to compliment the student’s sweet ride, but all five of his senses were immediately overwhelmed by everything Blake as he wrapped him and Tsubaki in a bear hug.

“Sorry for making you wait up. I had to drop a deuce,” Blake said as he let them back down again. 

There was a reason they didn’t hug often. Free from the pressure of Blake’s mutant arms, Soul stooped over and massaged his aching back. Tsubaki, accustomed to Blake’s strength, snapped back to her full height like a young tree sapling.

"We didn't wait very long!" Tsubaki assured him. "How do you think you did on your exam?" 

"Terrible. Eh. Fantastic. All of the above."

"Hmmmmm, fantastic!"

Blake broke into a wide grin. "Then that's how I did. Come on, let's get some grub. They didn't give me a snack break this time."

"You're not supposed to have a snack break in the middle of a test."

"Yeah, yeah. Last time I convinced Ms. Marie to give me one, but today I had that Medusa lady as my proctor. Her kid is pretty cool though.”

Soul was still interested in hearing what Tsubaki had to say about White Star and Blake’s prescription. Unfortunately, it looked like that fleeting moment where she might have confided in him had been punted off the field by her boisterous boyfriend. 

“Yo Soul, you coming too?"

Soul opened his mouth to answer in the affirmative, but then he saw Maka walking past, eyes trained to the side walk. Finally, she had appeared.

"I'll catch you two later," Soul said. He caught Tsubaki's eyes, a silent reassurance that they would continue their conversation later, too. She gave him a gentle smile--message received.

Maka was wrapped up when he caught up to her--wrapped up in her jacket, her thoughts, her worries. Soul picked up his pace until he settled beside her, walking in-step, as if they had been walking together all along.

Maybe it was because their friendship sang and harmonized like a tenor and soprano that Maka felt no need to say hello or ask Soul how he’d been. She just knew. “I need to pull an all-nighter,” she said in a measured voice. “Can I study at your place?”

This was the first time Maka had ever asked specifically to study in Soul’s dorm. When she didn’t offer an explanation why her own apartment wouldn’t do, he swallowed his urge to ask. Instead, he answered that it would be no trouble at all. 

He mentioned that Kid was spending the night at his father’s house, just in case, and Maka appeared ambivalent to the information. She nodded approvingly when she learned Blake was probably going to spend the night at Tsubaki’s. Soul didn’t say it aloud, but he hoped she might resolve whatever issue she had with White Star behind closed doors.

No trouble at all.

Night was falling when Maka revealed what Soul had suspected all along; this all-nighter was just a pretense. 

“I have a favor to ask,” Maka said with utter seriousness. She was sitting on his dorm room floor, textbook splayed open in her lap. Her fingers drummed on its pages expectantly. “But you have to promise that you won’t say no until after I finish asking you.”

This did not bode well. 

“Alright, shoot,” Soul said. He was on the floor himself, reaching underneath his bed to find his own textbook, buried somewhere in the clutter and darkness. As he searched blindly through discarded clothes and forgotten papers, he wondered what on earth Maka wanted from him. Granted, he would probably submit to any demand she made of him. They were partners now, after all. She helped him out, he helped her out; reciprocity at its finest. It would have to be a pretty damn unreasonable request for him to say--

“I’ve decided it’s time to lose my virginity.”

Soul jerked upward, slamming his skull into his bed’s beams. He struggled out of the crawlspace and sat up, rubbing his head rapidly before looking back at his friend. 

He opened his mouth to reply--to ask questions, demand answers--but she beat him to the punch. “You said you were going to hear me out!” Maka somehow had the gall to sound annoyed with _him_. “Look, I know virginity is a stupid concept. And I know that it’s pretty pathetic to ask a friend for sexual favors. But I’ve thought it over and made up my mind, and if I’m going to do this I’d rather it be with someone I trust rather than a rando. So, will you do this favor for me? I’ll do at least ten for you!”

This was unlike her. Did Maka suffer exam-induced amnesia or something? Was she not mentally _present_ when he spent the last two months helping her cozy up to his roommate? Snooping through Kid’s stuff, attending that clusterfuck of a Halloween party--did she conveniently _forget_ all that? 

“Well?” Maka asked impatiently. He realized he had been looking at her with baffled eyes and a slack jaw. 

“I think you’re stretching the definition of ‘favor,’” Soul said. 

As if to further prove her resolve and sincerity, Maka wordlessly unzipped her backpack and retrieved a bright yellow box. Soul knew what it was before she tossed it to him--Trojans, 18 Pack. 

“Prepared aren’t ya,” he murmured. He turned the box over in his hands, stunned. 

It was a lot of condoms for what he presumed to be a one night stand. Something inside Soul stirred, but he wasn’t certain if it was desire or dread. She was being so forward, so confident that this was going to happen, but there had been literally zero lead-up to this favor of hers. No flirting, no nothing. Soul had to wonder what it was she really wanted, and why she had suddenly forgotten about her rabid crush on Kid and decided to set her sights on him instead. Maka didn’t strike him as the type to relieve her frustration with meaningless sex, certainly not with “no-good, lazy-ass trust fund babies.” Her words, not his. 

Soul tore his eyes away from the box in his hand. “So when were you thinking we do this?” Maka pressed her lips into a fine line and stared at him. “Tonight?” Now she was fidgeting with her pigtails, possibly attempting to appear demure or sexy. “ _Now? What the fuck_? _”_

She dropped the act, and threw her textbook at him with surprising force. At this point in their friendship, he was able to dodge it with ease by flopping to the right. “I can’t really waste time if I’m going to actually study tonight _and_ be in bed by eleven. Are we going to do it or not?”

“Well, I dunno Maka,” Soul said, voice rising. “I’m sorta feeling the _opposite_ of seduced right now!”

A shrill noise rumbled in Maka’s throat. _“Soul Evans, you are impossible!”_ She scrunched up her nose and shot him a look of pure contempt. “If you’re going to be that way, fine. Just give me a straight answer so we can just for--”

“Sure.” Soul’s ability to speak before he thought often saved his ass in tight, messy situations. This was not one of those times. Maka blinked at him, slowly comprehending, and he scrambled to fix his stupid mouth’s mistake. “--ly we should talk about this for a few minutes first? Shit Maka, you haven’t talked to me in a week. Maybe we shouldn’t rush into things.”

“But I _do_ want to rush into things,” she replied with heated cheeks. “I want to get this over with as soon as possible. Wham, bam, done.”

“You make it sound like you’re getting a mole removed or something,” Soul grumbled, but despite his combative tone he was already turning the possibility of sleeping with Maka over in his head. It wasn’t ideal, but is also wasn’t _un_ ideal. In fact, now that he was actually considering it as a concrete this-might-happen-to-me-in-twenty-minutes thing, he was pretty into it. 

But Soul also found himself plagued with questions that just didn’t sit well with him. When a girl said she wanted you, did it matter if you found her reasons dubious at best? Even if she was a friend asking for a special, one-time sexual favor? Even if it was all her idea? And Kid--what if she actually did manage to convince Kid to date her one day? And what if Soul eventually succeeded in getting with Patty? Wouldn’t a sexual encounter between him and Maka complicate those things down the road? 

Asking himself these questions was a hollow endeavor. It would change everything. He’d never be able to look Kid or Patty in the eye. Hell, he might not even be able to look _Maka_ in the eye. Maybe it was the squishy sap hiding beneath his thick skin of sarcasm and self-loathing, but Soul imagined his first sexual experience going differently. Organically. Romantically. Not something that he was ordered to do, not something that the other party viewed as a _favor._

Most confusing of all, Soul knew for a fact he was entirely down to do this thing, tonight, in his apartment, with _her._ Because he wanted to. He didn’t allow himself to dwell too long on the hows or whys of this impulse, but by God did he want to.

It was a strange dissonance to be both buried in anxiety and intensely eager to accept his fate. Soul Evans was contradiction incarnate, so he wore it well. 

“I’m used to aiming way higher when it comes to girls,” Soul said with a nonchalance he hoped was convincing. “But I’m willing to lower my standards for a friend. Hey, maybe I’ll get a tax deduction for this.”

Maka snorted. “Oh please, I’m the best catch you’re ever gonna get.”

“Actually, I don’t think I wanna swap spit with someone who gives me so much lip.”

In a moment, Maka was back on the offensive. “Hey, no take backs!”

Soul shot her another quizzical, open-mouthed look, partly because he could not believe she had just invoked the Law of No Take Backs to justify _this,_ but also because she was so adamantly in favor of this insane idea. 

Whatever. 

Well, if they were going to get this show on the road, Soul had better kiss her. Or something. That ought to get things going with little complications. He could feel his heart dully thud in his chest as he swallowed and began to crawl towards her. 

“Whoah, whoah whoah,” Maka said, shrinking backwards. “What, um, what are you doing?”

“Trying to kiss you,” he said plainly mid-crawl. Sensing her alarm, Soul shifted back onto his haunches. “I figured that’s where we’d start, if that’s okay.”

Maka leaned further away as she considered this. “Could you not not lurk towards me when you do that?”

“I don’t lurk.”

“True, it’s not lurking. You’re basically slithering.” 

A low growl bubbled at the back of Soul’s throat. “Okay, _you_ initiate it then. This was all your idea.” He crossed his arms and legs and closed his eyes. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said before sticking out his lips. 

He waited, eyes closed, and willed his heartbeat to slow. It was just kissing. It didn’t matter and it didn’t mean anything. It’d happen, he would crack a dumb joke, she would back out of this sex scheme, and then it would be over. Best case scenario. But what was taking her so long? There had only been a few feet between them when he closed his eyes. Thinking that Maka might have backed out already, he decided to wait three seconds before opening his eyes. 

Soul should not have waited.

A sharp impact smacked into his face and sent him reeling backwards. Soul let fly several choice curse words as pain flamed across his nose and his upper lip _throbbed_. Did she punch him? 

Soul rolled over and cracked an eye open. Maka was also sprawled on the ground, clutching her own face and groaning. 

She didn’t try to sucker punch him. She had tried to kiss him. And _missed._ Hard.

He sat up, and the light trickle of liquid on his lip sent his hands clamoring back to his nose. 

“Dammit, my nose is bleeding,” he said aloud. 

“Well, my lip is busted,” Maka replied. “I’ll get us something.”

She scrambled to her feet and searched Soul’s desk for a box of tissues, and Soul plugged his nose to curb the flow of blood. “So,” he said in a nasal voice. “You didn’t mention any physical risks when you asked me for this favor.”

Maka ripped half a dozen tissues from the box with frustrated flourish. “I got nervous! I’m sorry!” 

With a tissue pressed to his nose, Soul listened as Maka launched into a long-winded apology. That kiss gone wrong was still sending shooting pains up his face, and as if smacking skulls wasn’t bad enough, her voice was starting to give him a headache, too.

“Maka, we aren’t getting anywhere,” Soul said. 

He watched Maka start tapping her lips with the tips of her fingers, muttering away to herself as she thought of what to do. The movement of her fingers and mouth was mesmerizing. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all, if she really wanted to. In fact, he had an idea that might help this whole thing along…

As if she could sense the direction his thoughts had taken, Maka snapped her fingers, eyes alight with inspiration. “I know what will help!” Maka exclaimed. Their eyes met and they blurted out their thoughts at the same time.

“Mood lighting!”

“Alcohol!”

A few minutes later, Soul carefully poured Fireball Whiskey into two shot glasses, straining to see in the dimmed light. His nose stopped leaking blood, and her swollen lip had already begun to deflate. He could hear Maka buzzing behind him, impatiently shifting her weight between her feet. 

“Did you know that stuff was recalled in Europe for being literal poison?” she said to him.

Soul rolled his eyes and handed her a shot glass, reminding her that this was her idea, this was all he had, and if she didn’t want any, she didn’t have to drink it. Maka pursed her lips, and they clinked glasses before going bottoms up and downing the shots in one smooth gulp. The violent cinnamon flavor of the whiskey burned all the way down without mercy, and the noxious aftertaste stung Soul’s mouth. At least it dulled his pounding headache. Maka shuddered as the liquid slid down her throat and settled in her stomach, but she stubbornly held out her glass for more. They ended up taking three shots each, which Soul figured was just enough to loosen them up so they could finally do the nasty. 

Slightly lightheaded from the strongly flavored alcohol, they lay down on their backs on the carpeted floor side by side. Maka had taken out her pigtails, and her hair fanned out around her head like a feathery halo.

“When the buzz kicks in,” Maka said quietly, staring at the ceiling. “We’re going to actually do it.”

“Right.”

“I mean it, no playing around.”

“Got it.”

“The two of us, together, it’s happening.”

“Swear to god, the more you talk, the less I want to screw you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

As much bravado as Soul forced into his banter, he felt even less ready and willing to do the sex post-Fireball. The alcohol was supposed to make this easier, but instead it had clouded his brain with a million and one doubts. Hell, he didn’t even have the barest hint of an erection, and that was supposed to be the easiest part. 

There was an ingredient to this they were missing. 

It came to him with the suddenness of a summer rain. “Maybe music is what we need,” Soul suggested. He sat up, invigorated by the idea. “I’ll make a playlist and then we can get started. Just give me fifteen minutes.” Why hadn’t he thought of this before? They had some drinks, they had the lighting, but it was the _music_ that would really set the mood. He could probably hop on his laptop and whip up some baby-making tunes no problem. 

“You take fiftee _n hours_ to make playlists,” Maka groaned. She rolled over and reached under his bed. “We should just use one that’s pre-made.” She pulled out a small box full of CDs, a very familiar box.

Once Soul spun around to see Maka sifting through his box of musical love letters, the sense of deja vu was overwhelming. Had it really been only three months since she first snuck into his room, three months since this insane gambit started? Except on that fateful night, she had been examining them so he could prove just how similarly screwed they were when it came to romance. Tonight, she was picking out the soundtrack for her sexual debut. _Their_ sexual debut. She reached for the CD labeled “Romantic Night In,” and he began to taste bile on the back of his tongue.

“Not those,” Soul said, knocking the CD out of her hand and pulling the box away from her. His movements were so quick and sharp that Maka flinched in confusion. “Those--they aren’t for this.”

“Don’t you want someone to listen to them?” Maka asked with a pointed look. She yanked the box back in her direction.

“Actually, I don’t,” Soul said, his voice tight. He tugged at the box again, but Maka’s grip remained firm.

“You put all this work into burning these things--” Another yank. “--and then they just collect dust under your bed.”

He set his jaw and pulled the box back his way with a little more fervor. “This isn’t why--”

Yank! “At least _I_ can appreciate them.”

_“They’re not for you to appreciate!”_

Mustering all his strength, Soul ripped the box straight out of Maka’s hands with so much force that he lost his balance and rolled onto his back. The sound of plastic clattering filled the room as CDs spilled out of the box and scattered across the floor. Soul shifted back onto his knees to gather them up, his cheeks burning. He knew he had made a lot of dumb mixtapes for Patty, but he didn’t really realize the sheer quantity of CDs until they were splayed all over his room, cheesy titles exposed for the world to see. 

It was there, bent over the evidence his greatest secret, that Soul noticed the murkiness of his thoughts, the wobbliness of his limbs. Three shots of fireball whiskey were finally taking their toll. Which might explain why his voice had been so sharp and coarse over something so stupid.

“I’m sorry,” Maka said, stung. Gut-churning guilt or no, Soul didn’t have the energy or patience to look at her. “I just thought--you’re obviously just humoring me. I was just trying to help.”

Soul wanted to console her somehow, but he wasn’t sure where to begin. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find Maka attractive. He just refused to _mix_ Patty stuff with Maka stuff. He couldn’t listen to a Patty CD while he was with Maka--that would be all kinds of wrong. Uncomfortable boundaries were being crossed. No, he needed a Maka CD. A completely separate playlist. 

 

"We should just forget this," Maka said. She lay onto her back again and stared at the ceiling, her pigtails fanning out at the sides of her head like angel wings. "I should have realized it wasn't as easy as just asking someone to have sex. I shouldn't have asked this of you."

Soul laid down beside her. He agreed on that point; his penis had long since retreated into its shell, and it was honestly a relief. But still, to disappoint Maka left him hollow. She wanted to do this for a reason, and even if that reason didn't have anything to do with liking him as more than a friend, it was still valid. You don't ask a friend to take your virginity for nothing.

“Did I ever tell you about my parents?”

Her voice was a brittle twig ready to snap. "I don't think so," Soul answered. "You don't have to," he added as an afterthought. He sort of _did_ want to know about them, about whether or not her professor papa’s reputation as a sleaze was as accurate as her reputation as a Palmtop Tiger, but only if she was cool with it.

"No, no, I want to," Maka said. She took a deep breath. “You know how when you’re a kid, all you want is to see the world? Experience everything life has to offer? I think my parents have always wanted that, but they never got it. Not until they could get rid of each other. And me."

"I doubt that's true," Soul said automatically. 

"It is though! My mom got knocked up in her final months of high school, and Mama and Papa had to put off college for three years to take care of me. They were tethered down almost overnight. Even when I was a kid, I could tell they were itching for a reason to leave. To get their lives back." Her voice betrayed no emotion. This was something she had thought about a lot, something she had spent time learning to discuss aloud with a toneless voice. Soul wasn’t sure if that meant she had accepted her family’s dysfunction or if she had just buried the resentment deep. "Papa’s solution was to become a lecherous creep and provoke my Mama to divorce. Mama just waited until I graduated high school and made Death City my permanent residence. Now they’ve both got what they’ve always wanted." 

They stared at the ceiling, quiet. A thousand consolations settled at the tip of Soul’s tongue, yet he couldn’t figure out which one he should say. The unsaid was a heavy burden that pushed his shoulders and spine into the floorboard, pinned like an ant. Or maybe tethered like a bird. Like Maka’s parents. 

It probably wasn’t his place to ask, but to hell with it. “What is it that you want?”

“Soul.” She spoke his name like a bold declaration, and he suppressed a shiver. “I didn’t--I didn’t just become friends with you because I liked your roommate,” Maka admitted. Though he couldn’t see her face, Soul could feel her words slowly falling upon him like autumn leaves. “I actually wanted to get to know you because I thought you were a cool person.”

A dark blush consumed Soul’s face, burning bright on his ears and crawling down his neck. 

“Making friends is something I’ve never been good at. Part of it is my parents’ fault, but it’s mine, too. But once we started hanging out it was just so _easy._ And I--” Her voice began to crack. “I just wanted to know what it was like to be _wanted_ by someone, at least for a while. You’re the only person I trusted enough to ask. I’m such a goddamned mess.” 

Soul slowly rolled to the side so he could look at her. Alcohol had let her deepest insecurities loose. 

“Yeah you are,” he agreed with a crooked smile. “But you’re my mess, so it’s cool.” 

When she didn’t reply, he scooted towards her until they were lying side by side. They didn’t look at each other, just stared up at the ceiling fan’s languid movement. The constant, slow revolution soothed his nerves, and he swallowed. 

“What did I say when you first came into my apartment back in August?” Soul finally said, turning to look at her. Maka rolled her head towards him, staring him in the face. “I’m talking about that time you tried to give me a concussion over a stupid love letter, remember?” She nodded wordlessly and Soul continued. “I said you didn’t have anything to be ashamed of. That’s still true.” 

She pursed her lips and then rolled back onto her back. "I haven't told you everything," Maka stated. "I...about when I walked home with Kid."

Soul's breath hitched. 

"I did it," Maka said flatly. "I told him. I confessed."

The way they were lying on the ground, their hands brushed together. The patch of Soul's skin where they made contact tingled. "So what did he say?" Soul finally asked, though he could tell where this was going. 

Maka released a dry laugh. "He let me down easy. I think. It was hard to tell, being rejected and everything.” 

He had predicted such a reaction a while ago, but he still swore. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“No, I really am. It takes a lot of guts to tell someone you like them after so long.” Despite remaining on the floor, Soul could tell from Maka’s profile that her forehead was scrunched into a frown. _Fuck it._ “You know what, I’m proud of you. This is huge. No more Mrs. Meek Maka. Now all the cards are on the table and you can move forward.”

“How can I move forward when I haven’t made any _progress_?” 

There it was again, Maka’s fascination with ‘progress.’ For such an empty sounding word, it certainly raised many troubling questions about how Maka viewed her relationships. 

“But you _have!_ I’ve been saying it from the start. Some people literally put their feelings in a box and hide them under their bed. You actually did something about yours. And _that_ is an accomplishment worth celebrating.”

Her response was dismissive and tinged with hurt. “That speech is the equivalent of a participation trophy. I don’t _want_ to settle. I want to have the real deal, a _real_ love. And not only is finding someone who can be your friend and love at the same time _impossible,_ but I picked the wrong guy.” 

“You almost slept with the wrong guy, too,” Soul added. The joke didn’t land, and Maka grew quiet. 

Blurting shit out never served Soul well. He carefully considered his words. “I feel like when you meet that person that you just click with, the possibility of being friends, partners, and being in love is very real,” he said. “It's one of the rare situations in life where you can have your cake and eat it too. You find all of those things in one person.”

“But where-”

“I dunno, Maka. Not yet. But I’d like to think that all of my fuck ups are bringing me one step closer to finding out. Don’t you?” 

That night, Maka slept on Soul’s bed while he crashed on the couch in the dorm common room. He stole one of Kid’s extra toothbrushes--Dean Theodore Kidman didn’t use the same toothbrush for longer than two months--and grabbed one of his own old t-shirts so Maka could be somewhat comfortable. They agreed that all talk of sexual shenanigans was postponed until further notice, yet their conversation continued through grazing touches, brief looks. The condom box was stowed under his bed alongside all of his other secrets. 

Sleep did not come willingly. Long after Soul assumed Maka had already fallen into a deep slumber, he stared at the ceiling, wide awake, mind replaying the shape of Maka’s mouth when she uttered the word _cool._

Of course he slept in and missed her leaving for class Friday morning. Soul believed Maka might want some space after their deeply personal conversation, so rather than seek her out he shot Maka another series of texts. This time, he was dead sober.

_Soul (11:45 a.m.): i hope i dont make it weird for you to share things with me_

_Soul (11:45 a.m.): you know im already a sap, i eat that shit up!_

_Soul (11:46 a.m.): just a thought_

_Soul (11:46 a.m.): no matter what, im the one person that'll always hear you out_


End file.
